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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


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Vol. 50. No. 821. 


Feb. 29, 1888. 


Subscription $30. 


Entered at the Post Office, N. Y., as Second Class Matter. 
Munro’s Library is issued Tri- Weekly. 



LITTLE SUNSHINE. 












BY ADAH M. HOWARD. 


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Entered according to Act of Congress , in the year 1888, by Norman L, 
Munro , m t/te o#ice o/ tfte Librarian of Congress , 
at Washington , £>. C. 












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NEW YORK: 

NORMAN L. MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

24 AND 26 VANDEWATER ST, 


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[COPYRIGHTED.] 

LITTLE SUNSHINE; 

OR, 

The Secret of the Death Chamber. 


BY ADAH I. HOWARD, 


CHAPTER I. 

ENTERING ON A NEW LIFE. 

44 In our household dwells a fairy, 

With a sweet and winning way, 

And her footsteps, light and airy, 

Make sweet music all the day. 

How we long for her caressing 
When the twilight shadows come, 

For we’ve named her, with a blessing, 

4 Little Sunshine ’ of our home.” 

Arthur W„ French 

4 ‘Will you be quiet, Madeline? I declare, my head 
aches with the sound of your incessant clatter, 7 ’ laughingly 
protested Leone Delmore, addressing her room-mate and 
school- companion, Madeline Clare, who had been for an 
hour or more dancing around the room* with the airy, 
graceful motions of a sprite, chatting, laughing, and clap- 
ping her little white hands with the rapturous delight of a 
child. 

At the sound of Leone’s voice, Madeline sank into the 
nearest chair, pulling her face into a comical expression of 
mock gravity, but the next moment found her on a low 
stool at Leone’s feet, her brown eyes all aglow, and her 
lovely, young face dimpling into brightest smiles. 

“Don’t be cross, dear Leo,” she began, in her sweet, coax- 
ing voice. “Indeed, I cannot be quiet to-day, I am so 
happy, so intensely, unspeakably happy ; all day long I have 
been quoting — not aloud, but in my heart— Alexander 
Smith’s beautiful lines: 


2 


LITTLE SUNSHINE , . 


u 4 This world is very lovely, oh, my God! 

I thank Thee that I live.’ 

4 ‘My life has been so singularly blest, Leo; its skies all 
blue and cloudless. The roses springing in my path have 
been without one single thorn. What wonder that I am 
happy. I have never known a mother’s love, it is true, 
but papa has been all the world to me, and the wife whom 
he has lately taken to his bosom will love me dearly for his 
sake. Read her letter, Leone, and you will understand why 
my heart is filled with joy at the thought of the welcome 
awaiting me in my own dear home.” 

Leone took the dainty, pink- tinted sheet of note-paper 
Madeline extended toward her, and read aloud a portion of 
Mrs. Clare’s letter: 

“My Dearest Child, — I regret exceedingly that I will 
not be able to accompany your dear father when he goes 
to escort you home from your school ; and believe me, I 
shall count the very hours of his absence, in my anxiety 
to clasp to my heart his ‘ Little Sunshine. ’ I shall love 
you very dearly, Madeline, not only for my husband’s sake, 
but for your own, and I sincerely hope you will learn to 
think of me as your loving mother, 

“Louise Clare.” 

Leone handed back the letter in silence. 

It did not please her. Something in the tone of it struck 
her as being forced and insincere ; but little Madeline was 
too thoroughly absorbed in her own pleasant meditations 
to notice the shadow on her friend’s face, and presently the 
former resumed, in a tone that was a trifle less joyous, and 
with an involuntary shiver: 

“ To-morrow ends my happy school life. Papa will come 
to take me home. It seems that a new existence is opening 
before me. The sun of my life is rising in glory. Oh, 
Leone, how ivill it set V ’ 

The proud, dark face of Leone Delmore grew slightly 
pale, and she drew the golden head of Madeline Clare to her 
breast, as if to shield her from some unseen peril. 

Madeline’s last words had been like an echo of her own 
thoughts. 

What would be the end of this young life, whose path 
had led hitherto through green fields and flowery meadows, 
with never a glimpse of the barren and miry ways beyond. 

It seemed to Leone, as she bent to kiss the lovely, radiant 
face of her companion, that some dim foreshadowing of 
the tragedy of the future dawned upon her, some vague 
but positive prescience of the coming time when Madeline’s 
life would have reached its sunniest point, where the glad 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 3 

feet were to stop, where the music was to be hushed, and 
the light to go down. 

Leone’s somewhat gloomy meditations were broken in 
upon by Madeline’s gay voice, and Madeline’s hearty, girl- 
ish laughter. 

4 * Into what a sentimental mood have we fallen, Leo, 
dear ; one would think we were enacting a scene from some 
emotional drama, and all our packing to be done, too. 
Gracious! what can we be thinking of?” 

And Madeline disengaged herself from her companion’s 
embrace, and was soon busily engaged in the business of 
packing, with a merry song on her lips, and the old, happy, 
cloudless light in her brown eyes. 

These two girls — Leone and Madeline, who were on the 
morrow to bid farewell to the seminary under whose roof 
the last three years of their lives had been passed — were as 
totally dissimilar in form and features as it was possible for 
girls of the same age and nationality to be. Leone was tall, 
dark, and stately, with a clear olive complexion, and black 
hair and eyes, inherited from her creole mother; while 
Madeline was below the medium height of womanhood, a 
graceful, fairy-like little creature, with a pearl-fair face, 
framed in short, boyish curls of golden hair, a lovely little 
mouth, around which the dimples played hide-and-seek 
when she smiled, and eyes that were like the soft, brown, 
tender orbs of an antelope. Her winning ways and sweet, 
sunny disposition gained her the love of all with whom she 
came in contact, and won for her the pretty title that clung 
to her from her childhood — 4 4 Little Sunshine.” 

Every one, from the stern and cold Madame Delorme — 
the principal of the seminary — to little Lottie Leigh, the 
poor charity scholar to whom Sunshine was especially gen- 
tle and kind — loved the sunny-faced little creature, and 
felt a void in their hearts that no other could fill when 
they thought of parting with her. 

Leone Delmore, who was called proud and haughty, 
made but few friends. 

Little Sunshine alone had power to call a look of tender- 
ness to those cold, black eyes, and Sunshine understood 
the girl’s proud nature. 

Leone was the daughter of a millionaire, a gentleman 
whose residence was said to be the most handsome and ele- 
gant mansion in Brooklyn. 

Leone was Ralph Delmore’ s only child and heiress, and 
one would think the girl should have been happy in antici- 
pation of the brilliant future opening before her, but such 
was not the case. 

Indeed, the mention of her home and her future would 
call such a look of bitterness to her haughty face, that 


4 LITTLE SUNSHINE. 

even Little Sunshine would shrink from her in pained sur- 
prise. 

‘ ‘ Do not speak to me of my future, it does not concern 
you!” she had said on one occasion, so fiercely that Made- 
line’s pretty lips quivered like a grieved child’s, and she 
would have left the room but that Leone clasped her in a 
passionate embrace. 

‘ ‘ Chere petite , forgive me ! I would not willingly pain 
you. My little Sunshine, do you know that in all this 
wide world there is not another creature who is dear to 
me. My father and mother, you say, oh, yes! ha, ha, 
ha! is it not strange that I should have forgotten them?” 

There was something so harsh and bitter in the sound of 
Leone’s laughter, that Madeline drew herself out of her 
embrace with a shudder, while Leone turned away, mut- 
tering below her breath : 

‘ ‘ If she knew ! if she knew the truth — she would not 
let me kiss her pure lips, or hold her in my arms. Ah ! 
my darling! my Sunshine, indeed! It will be dark — dark 
as midnight when vou have passed out of my miserable 
life.” 

Madeline pondered long and anxiously over Leone’s 
strange words and stranger manner, but she did not 
venture again to touch on the forbidden subject of her 
friend’s future, and the hour arrived when the girls must 
say farewell. 

They were not to be far separated, as Leone’s home was 
in Brooklyn and Sunshine’s in New York, and they had 
made many promises to visit each other regularly, yet all 
the proud calm of Leone’s manner deserted her when she 
held Madeline to her heart at parting, and the kisses she 
pressed on her little friend’s lips were like the lingering 
heart-broken caresses we bestow upon our beloved dead, 
ere they are removed from our sight forever. 

Mr. Ralph Delmore arrived at the seminary some two 
hours in advance of Madeline’s father, and carried his daugh- 
ter off in spite of Madeline's request that he should wait 
until Mr. Clare arrived, that they might journey home- 
ward together. 

Mr. Delmore was a stern, cold, proud -looking man, and 
one glance into his face would show that he was not over 
fond of his stately daughter, whom he met with a cool 
clasp of the hand, after a year’s separation from her. 

Leone’s black eyes flashed angrily when her father de- 
nied Madeline’s request, but she said nothing; and a few 
minutes later the carriage containing the millionaire and 
his daughter was driven out of the seminary gates, and 
Leone Delmore’ s happy days were over. 




v 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 5 

Very different was the meeting between the other father 
and daughter, an hour later. 

Lester Clare held his child to his heart, and gazed into 
her sweet sunny face as if he could never be satisfied, 
while his kisses fell like rain on the pretty, golden hair, 
the smiling lips, and the tender brown eyes of his dar- 
ling. 

‘ ‘ Ze house vill be dark, monsieur — you vill take ze sun- 
shine with you, ” said Madame Delorme, as she bent her 
gray head to kiss Madeline farewell, much to the surprise 
of the assistant teachers, who chanced to be present, and 
who had never known the stern, cold Frenchwoman to be- 
stow a caress upon any living thing. 

When the last farewell had been spoken, Madeline turned 
to her father, with tears in her brown eyes. 

“Come, papa; I have bidden farewell to the old life,” 
she said softly, and Lester Clare shivered and turned his 
face away. God only knew what hopes and fears were 
struggling in his heart as he thought of the new life upon 
which his darling was entering. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE FIRST SHADOW. 

“ She saw him lean over the stranger’s chair, 

With a warm, new light in his glowing eyes. 

And she awoke from her dream then and there, 

And went out of her self-made Paradise.” 

“They might have been here before now! Oh, dear, 
mamma, how anxious I am to clasp to my heart my dear 
step-papa’s Little Sunshine.” 

The above words were spoken in a tone of mockery by 
Laura Vereton, the daughter of Madeline Clare’s step- 
mother, on the evening of Madeline’s expected arrival from 
school. 

Laura was a tall, handsome blonde, some three years 
older than Madeline, the very light of her mother’s eyes. 

Mrs. Clare, stern and determined in her dealings with all 
others, was a very slave in the hands of her imperious 
daughter, and never ventured to oppose the latter in any- 
thing. 

“ My dear love,” she exclaimed, in answer to Laura’s 
sneering remark concerning l^er stepfather’s daughter — 
“my dear love, you must really treat Madeline kindly. 
Remember how much depends on ” 

Laura interrupted her with a burst of mocking laughter. 

‘ 4 Trust me, my dear, mamma ! I know on which side my 
bread is buttered. Hark ! there is the bell. Now you shall 
see how I will welcome my sweet sister.” 


6 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


At this moment the parlor door was thrown open, but it 
was not the sweet sister who entered, but a dark complex- 
ioned young man, Basil Brandon by name, the acknowb 
edged suitor of Laura Yereton. 

At sight of this man's face the entire expression of 
Laura’s countenance changed. 

Her cold, blue eyes brightened, her pale cheeks flushed, 
and her hands were involuntarily extended to clasp his 
own. 

He held them for a moment to his breast, and bent his 
head until his lips brushed her high, white forehead, while 
Mrs. Clare suddenly found herself deeply interested in the 
novel she held open, discreetly oblivious to the tender 
scene going on before her. 

The sound of carriage wheels stopping before the house 
was soon heard, and Basil Brandon found himself deserted, 
while his fiancee and her mother hurried toward the win- 
dow to catch a glimpse of the arrivals. 

“It is papa and Madeline,” said Laura, sweetly, and 
in another moment Mrs. Clare had clasped the fairy form 
of Madeline to her breast, and was saying, in low, tender 
tones : 

“My dear child, my little daughter, how fondly I shall 
love you. Come, Laura, my love, come and bid your sister 
■welcome home. ’ ’ 

Laura embraced Madeline warmly, whispering pretty 
words of welcome, but strange to say, Little Sunshine was 
relieved when her new-found sister released her from her 
embrace. 

Laura next proceeded to introduce her friend, Basil 
Brandon, whose bold, black eyes had never wandered from 
the face of Madeline from the moment of that young lady’s 
entrance upon the scene. 

“ The loveliest face I have ever seen, by Jove! What a 
lucky fellow he will be who first brings the lovelight to those 
innocent eyes, ” was the mental verdict of Basil Brandon, 
while he touched respectfully the little white hand so 
frankly extended toward him. 

4 ‘ My dear, you are pale and weary-looking ; I fear the 
journey has been too much for you in your delicate state. 
What shall I do for you, Lester?” 

These words, spoken by Louise Clare, as she bent over 
the couch upon which her Jiusband had thrown himself 
when he first entered the parlor, attracted the attention of 
Madeline, who in a moment was kneeling by her father’s 
side, with her golden head on his breast. 

“ Oh, papa! you are ill, and you have not told me. I see 
it now ; your pale face, the strange light in your eyes. Oh, 
madam, mother, why did you let him go on such a long 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. *1 

journey? Why did you not tell me he was ill? Papa, dar- 
ling, speak to your Little Sunshine.” 

The last words were spoken in a tone of alarm, for Lester 
Clare had fallen back among the cushions of his couch, 
white and senseless. 

“Hush, love! do not sob so; my poor husband is subject 
to these attacks ; he will be better soon ; see ! even new he 
is reviving!” exclaimed Mrs. Clare, and Madeline dropped 
her face beside the dear head on the cushions, trying vainly 
to stifle her frightened cries. 

Her father’s appearance was certainly alarming. 

His handsome Saxon face would never be whiter in its 
coflin. 

His forehead, from which the fair hair fell back in short, 
clustering curls, was icy cold, and the white lids were only 
half closed over his deep blue eyes. 

It would seem as if the sound of his child’s weeping 
awakened him from that death-like swoon, for as Mrs. 
Clare spoke he opened wide his eyes, and extended his 
arms to clasp wife and child in one fervent embrace. 

4 4 Louise ! my wife ! and my child ! my Little Sunshine ! 
I have frightened you both, but it is over now ; see, I am 
quite strong again. ’ ’ 

He attempted to raise himself on his elbow as he spoke, 
but sank down again, weak as a little child. 

44 My love, you must be quiet. Madeline will go to her 
rooms now, and I will remain with you ” 

“No! no! Oh, madam, let me stay with him; I have 
been away from him so long, my own darling father. Oh, 
papa, ask your wife to let me remain with you, ’ ’ inter- 
rupted Madeline, and Lester Clare looked appealingly into 
his wife’s face, as if mutely petitioning her to grant his 
child’s request. 

Child as she was, Madeline understood that glance. Her 
father’s somewhat weak and effeminate nature was en- 
tirely governed by the stronger will of the woman he had 
made his wufe. 

Mrs. Clare’s face flushed angrily as she listened to Made- 
line’s pleading voice, and in answer to her husband’s mute 
petitition she answered, coldly: 

4 4 Madeline, you will oblige me by leaving me alone with 
your father. You are only a child, and cannot understand 
what is good for him. You shall be summoned when he is 
able to receive you. I have rang for a servant to conduct 
you to your own apartments, where you may change your 
traveling-suit, and, if you are not too tired, join Laura and 
Mr. Brandon in the reception-room.” 

She pressed a cold kiss on Madeline’s face as she con- 
cluded, and with a stifled sob in her throat, Madeline turned 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


8 

away, and in the silence and solitude of her own chamber 
wept as if her very heart would break ; she had anticipated 
such a different home-coming. 

She did not long indulge in this exhibition of grief, how- 
ever ; she was naturally too sunny -tempered and hopeful ; 
and removing all traces of tears from her face, she donned 
a pretty dress of some soft, blue, cloud-like material, and 
prepared to join Laura and Basil Brandon in the reception- 
room, in the hope of pleasing her stepmother. 

“ She is papa’s wife. He loves her, and for his dear sake 
I must try to please her. My dear papa is worn out with 
his constant brain-labor — my noble, poet father, and his wife 
will nurse him back to health. How selfish I was to think 
that I had the best right to attend him. ’ ’ 

Madeline smiled as she uttered these last words, but her 
pretty lips quivered piteously, and once again the sweet, 
brown eyes filled with a sudden rush of tears. 

She soon recovered herself, however, and a few" mo- 
ments later entered the room to which Laura and Basil 
Brandon had withdrawn — a lovely little vision in her blue, 
cloud-like drapery, with a cluster of fragrant violets in the 
short, golden curls of her hair. 

Laura came forward to meet her with sweetest words of 
■welcome, while Basil’s black eyes shone with a strange, in- 
tense light and his voice took a new tone as he addressed 
the stepsister of his fair fiancee. 

The remainder of the evening passed off pleasantly. In 
less than an hour Lester Clare was able to join the party 
in the reception-room, and after his appearance Madeline 
was happy as a child, filling the house with her merry 
voice and gay bursts of laughter. 

She played and sang beautifully, to the intense delight 
of her father, who was a passionate lover of music, and 
himself a fine tenor. 

The two voices mingled harmoniously, while one at least 
of the little party listened in rapt attention, drinking in 
the sound of the sweet girlish voice of Little Sunshine, 
scarcely conscious of the presence of the woman who was 
his affianced wife, and whose soft, jeweled hand had stolen 
into his own. 

Laura was quick to notice her lover’s absorption, and 
her pale blue eyes glittered with an evil light as she fol- 
lowed the direction of his glance, and marked the radiant 
beauty of Madeline’s face. 

Some hours later, when the house was wrapped in si- 
lence, and Madeline slept the dreamless sleep of innocence, 
with a smile on her lips, and L r hands clasped above her 
golden head, Laura Yereton and her mother were closeted 
in the room of the former, conversing in low, guarded 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


9 


tones, Laura’s pale -blue eyes were dark with some evil 
passion, and her hands were locked so tightly together that 
the nails cut deep into the pink-tinted palms. 

4 ‘ I tell you, mamma, I am not mistaken. Basil has al- 
ready fallen in love with that white-faced baby. I have 
seen a look in his eyes to-night such as I have never been 
able to call from them, and when I accompanied him as 
usual, to the door to-night, he seemed scarcely to know 

what he was doing. 4 Good-night, Mad , ’ he began, 

but seeing the look of astonishment on my face, he quickly 
substituted the words, 4 my darling, good-night, my dar- 
ling;’ but when I lifted my face for his good-night kiss he 
put me from him carelessly, and strode away before I could 
utter a word. Do you think I will endure this, mamma? 
do you think for one moment I will allow your husband’s 
daughter to come between me and the man I love ? If you 
think so you will soon discover your mistake. I tell you 
I will stop at nothing to punish her if she dares to lure 
Basil Brandon from me.” 

The last words came from between the tightly-clinched 
teeth of Laura Vereton like the hiss of a rattlesnake, and 
even her mother recoiled from her with a gesture of terror. 

44 Laura, you frighten me; do not talk so wildly. I shall 
see that Madeline does not annoy you in the future. Ah, 
Lester is calling me, I must leave you ; have no fear, my 
beloved child, Madeline Clare shall never rob you of your 
lover.” 

With these words Mrs. Clare kissed her daughter, and 
hurried back to her husband’s chamber, while Little Sun- 
shine slept on, utterly unconscious of the woe in store for 

her. 


CHAPTER III. 

JEALOUSY. 

“ Hell hath no fury 
Like a woman scorned.” 

Days lengthened into weeks, until a month had passed 
since little Sunshine returned to the home in which she 
had expected to be so happy. 

Mrs. Clare was kind and tender; Laura controlled her 
angry, jealous feelings for some purpose best known to 
herself, although it was now a fact patent to all observers 
that Basil Brandon was no longer the devoted lover he had 
been previous to the advent of Madeline. He visited the 
home of the Clares just as regularly, but it was only too 
evident that Madeline was the attraction. Madeline, who 
was herself the only one unconscious of the state of affairs. 

Little Sunshine was entirely occupied in attending to the 


10 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


wants of her father, who was now a confirmed invalid, ah 
though he strove to conceal his growing weakness for his 
darling’s sake. 

Louise Clare was a most devoted and attentive wife, and 
many times during the course of a day Lester Clare would 
laughingly declare himself the happiest of men, in having 
such a devoted wife and daughter to nurse and humor his 
sick fancies. 

“ When I get quite strong again, my darlings, I shall re- 
ward your devotion,” he often said; but, alas, the time 
to which he looked forward so hopefully never dawned for 
him in this world. 

There came a day, a month later, when Mr. Clare could 
no longer join in his Little Sunshine’s songs, and when the 
strange, gray shadow on his face, and the grave, puzzled 
look of the physicians, sent a thrill of terror to the girl’s 
heart 

“What if he should die?” 

The thought was too dreadful to be harbored for a mo- 
ment, and Madeline strove to banish it, but it kept con- 
stantly recurring to her, and fearful that the look of agony 
on her face should disturb the dear sufferer, she fled from 
the sick-room to the little study that had been her father’s 
favorite resort, and seating herself in her father’s chair, 
strove anew to put from her that awful fear. 

While she sat thus a hand was placed lightly on her 
shoulder, and looking up with a start, she beheld the dark 
face of Basil Brandon bending closely over her. 

She believed at first that he had come to her with some 
evil tidings from the sick-room, and springing to her feet, 
she caught his arm to prevent herself from falling. 

“ What is it? Oh, tell me quickly! He is dead, and I 
am alone, alone!” she moaned, swaying backward and for- 
ward like a fragile lily in a strong gale. 

“No, no, he is not dead! Oh, forgive me for startling 
you so, and do not look so white and strange, Little Sun- 
shine, my love! my darling!” 

He was holding Madeline closely to his breast as he spoke 
the last words, the poor child lying for a moment passive 
in his embrace, too thoroughly bewildered and frightened 
to make any attempt to release herself. 

It was scarcely a moment, yet while be held her thus, a 
white face peered in at the doorway, and disappeared in an 
instant— the pale, vengeful face of Laura Vereton. 

Madeline soon recovered strength to tear herself from 
the arms of her stepsister’s lover, who shrank like a 
beaten cur before the scornful glance of her innocent eyes. 

How dare you ! How dare you speak such words to 
me under my father’s roof, when he lies ill — dying, per- 


11 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 

haps — and unable to protect me. You are a coward, sir, 
and I shall tell Laura of your conduct this very hour.” 

She swept out of the room while these words still rang in 
his ears, before he could put forth a hand to detain her. 

“Where is Miss Laura?” she asked of a servant whom 
she met in the hallway, to which question the latter re- 
plied : 

“I believe she’s with her mother, in the master’s room, 
Miss Madeline — but, oh, dear child, don’t go there, 
you’re ” 

Madeline waited to hear no more. Something in the ex- 
pression of the servant’s face terrified her. Laura and 
Laura’s false lover were alike forgotten, and with white 
face and wildly throbbing heart Lester Clare’s daughter 
burst into his chamber, her light feet making no sound on 
the velvet-carpeted floors, and the door swinging noise- 
lessly on its hinges, giving no warning of her approach. 

“Thank God, he is not dead!” was her mental exclama- 
tion, as she advanced half way into her father’s dressing- 
room — which connected with his chamber — and heard the 
sound of his feeble voice. 

Suddenly she paused, in the center of the apartment, to 
listen to the words he was speaking. 

It would be utterly beyond my power to describe the 
change that came over the girl at this moment. 

Her hands dropped nerveless to her sides. Her face 
seemed actually frozen into a look of horror. Her white 
lips sprung apart, but no sound came from them. 

Twice she essayed to cry out, but her throat was palsied, 
and groping her way like one blind, at last reached her 
father’s room, and stood like an accusing spirit in the door- 
way. 


CHAPTER IV, 

THE READING OF THE WILL. 

“ Oh, weep for the dead! 

Weep that a glowing heart 

Left incomplete its dream of glorious art, 

That like the unfinished shaft of sculpture rare, 

Stands on the pathless height, in dulf and silent air, 
Pointing to eternit}’’.” 

Adah Isaacs Menken. 

What was the sight upon which the eyes of Lester 
Clare’s daughter had fallen as she crossed the threshold 
of her father’s chamber? the sight that had power to 
rob her young face of all its girlish bloom and brightness, 
and bring that look of horror to the soft brown eyes? 

Certainly, to the eyes of a casual observer, the scene re- 


/ 

1 2 LITTLE S UNSHINE . 

vealed to her would not have suggested anything of an 
alarming nature. 

Lester Clare was sitting erect in his bed, grasping tightly 
the hands of his wife, in one of which the latter held a vial 
of colorless liquid— the medicine ordered by Mr. Clare’s 
physician. 

As Madeline appeared at the door of his chamber, Mr. 
Clare was speaking to his wife in a low, vehement tone, 
and it was the words he uttered that sent such a thrill of 
horror to the heart of his child. 

Some sort of a sound escaped her lips at last— a quiver- 
ing, heart- wrung sigh — and the eyes of husband and wife 
turned on her simultaneously. 

Louise Clare’s face was ghastly pale, and at sight of 
Madeline her limbs trembled and refused to bear her 
weight, and she sank on her knees, hiding her face in the 
bed -clothing., 

” You have heard all,” cried Madeline’s father, who had 
sunk back upon his pillows, weak as an infant. 

Madeline bowed. 

She had heard all, but she could not have spoken had 
her life depended on it. 

Mr. Clare motioned her to his bedside, and she obeyed 
him mechanically, walking with hands half extended, like 
one groping in the dark. 

“Go, Louise, and have no fear. You are my wife, you 
bear my name — the name that has never yet been spoken 
in the same breath with dishonor or crime. Go away, 
Louise, and leave me with my child.” 

Louise Clare rose slowly to her feet, and stood for a mo- 
ment gazing from the face of the father to that of his 
child. 

She seemed to have recovered her accustomed composure. 
Her limbs no longer trembled, and her face had regained a 
trace of color. 

There was a strange, yellow light in her gray eyes, and 
her red lips were pressed hard together, as if in the effort 
to control her agitation. 

“Bemain with your father, Madeline, while I send a 
messenger for Dr. Townley . This delirium frightens me, ’ ’ 
she whispered, as she swept past Madeline with head erect, 
and a look of injured innocence on her handsome blonde 
face. 

Madeline gave no sign of having heard her, but a strange 
smile, a smile of infinite sadness and wordless scorn, over- 
swept the pallid countenance of Lester Clare. 

When the door had closed on his wife, Mr. Clare turned 
his eyes on the face of his child, 

“ Lock all the doors communicating with my apart- 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


13 


ments, my darling, and then come back to me,” were his 
first words. 

And, still without speaking, Madeline obeyed, and was 
soon folded in the feeble arms that ere long would loosen 
their clasp forever. 

‘ ‘ My precious child ! my Little Sunshine ! what a fatal 
heritage I leave you ! — what a heritage of sorrow and woe ! 
Oh, my darling — my beloved child! would to Heaven I 
might take you with me!” the father cried, as Madeline 
clung to him, finding her voice to speak at last, and beg- 
ging him in piteous tones to explain the meaning of the 
fearful words to which she had listened on first entering 
his chamber. 

We will not now relate what passed between father and 
daughter during this last solemn, never-to-be-forgotten in- 
terview, but leave them for a time to follow the movements 
of Louise Clare, who, on leaving the chamber of her hus- 
band, had gone directly to the library on the second floor 
below. 

As she entered this room, a man, who had been writing 
at Mr. Clare’s desk, arose to meet her, exclaiming: 

“ Well, what has happened?” 

For a moment it seemed that Mrs. Clare was unable to 
speak, and her questioner grew pale with alarm. 

“ Cannot you open your mouth? What is the meaning 
of this mummery V ’ cried the man, coarsely, and the sound 
of his voice made his companion shiver. 

”It means that we are ruined, Percy Townley; his 
daughter knows the whole truth. ’ ’ 

The face of Hr. Percy Townley — Lester Clare’s medical 
attendant — grew dark with some fierce passion, and for a 
moment he paced the floor of the library like an enraged 
animal. Then, pausing suddenly before Mrs. Clare, he 
folded his arms on his breast and gazed earnestly into her 
face, laughing softly, as if the sight of her pallid face and 
frightened eyes amused him. 

“ My dear Louise, do you think I will allow that baby 
faced schoolgirl to upset my carefully matured plans? BahJ 
I thought you knew me better ! Buined, forsooth — not a 
bit of it. Trust me to settle this little matter satisfactorily. 
And now let me go to my patient — poor fellow ! I am 
sorry to hear of his helpless state. This delirium is a sure 
precursor of death.” 

Again Dr. Townley laughed — a low, disagreeable cachin- 
nation that had nothing of mirth in it, and without further 
ceremony he brushed past Mrs. Clare, and ascended to the 
stairs leading to her husband’s chamber. As we know, all 
the doors leading to it had been locked on the inside, and 
the doctor’s repeated knocking was disregarded. 


14 


Little sunshine. 

“Miss Madeline, open the door, or your father’s death 
will rest on your own head,” cried Dr. Townley, at last, 
when an hour had passed, and Madeline still appeared deaf 
to his entreaties. 

Even this appeal brought no answer, and, calling some of 
the frightened servants to his assistance, the physician 
forced open one of the doors, and entered the sick-room. 

What a sight was revealed to them then. The father 
and child locked in a close embrace, the dead and the liv- 
ing. Madeline’s face was hidden from their gaze, pressed 
close against the pulseless bosom of her dead father, and it 
was with difficulty they loosened the fast stiffening arms 
from about her, and carried her senseless to her chamber, 
where she lay in the dull, heavy stupor of despair during 
all the time that the shrouded form was lying in state in 
the darkened parlor below, where the widow mourned her 
dead amid the perfume of the rich floral tributes with which 
the bier was covered. 

Little Sunshine was not conscious of any very acute suf- 
fering during those dreadful days, it all seemed like a 
frightful dream, from which she must soon awake; and 
even when they arrayed her in a flowing robe of crape, and 
led her to the casket to take her last farewell of the father 
whom she had loved so tenderly, she kissed the icy, irre- 
sponsive lips without a sign of emotion. 

“How heartless! She did not shed a tear!” were some 
of the remarks passed afterward by those who had seen 
Madeline at her father’s coffin, where Louise Clare had 
wept and fainted, and cried out that she did not care to live 
since her darling Lester had been taken from her. 

The funeral was over at last, and all traces of death re- 
moved from the mansion that had owned Lester Clare as 
master, . 

On the day after the burial the dead man’s will was read, 
and once again Madeline was brought from out her cham- 
ber, still in that dull, hopeless apathy of despair — to listen 
to the reading of this all important document. 

Itjvas Dr. Townley who conducted her to a chair in the 
room where the lawyer and family were assembled, and, 
although her father had often spoken of Percy Townley as 
his friend, Madeline shivered at the touch of his hand, and 
for the first time seemed to rouse herself to a realization of 
her surroundings. 

The reading of the will occupied three quarters of an 
hour, but very few words are needed to explain its con- 
tents. 

The widow was to have the larger share of the fortune 
of the deceased, while that portion of it set apart for the 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 15 

Use of Madeline was to be entirely under the control of Dr, 
Percy Townley, who was appointed Madeline’s guardian. 

Madeline’s face betrayed no emotion whatever while the 
will was being read, but at its conclusion she arose quietly, 
and, refusing the doctor’s assistance, walked quietly from 
the room. 

“ She will be more easily managed than I expected,” said 
the doctor, in a low, exultant tone, when he found himself 
alone with the widow. 

Louise Clare made no reply; there was something in 
the expression of Madeline’s face that did not quite please 
her, and when the girl failed to appear at the dinner-table 
that evening the widow went herself in search of her. 

‘ ‘ Madeline ! my child ! open the door ! I must speak 
with you,” she cried, in the sweet, coaxing voice she 
knew so well how to assume, as she stood outside of 
Madeline’s chamber door a few moments, before venturing 
to enter. 

There came no answer from within and Mrs. Clare turned 
the knob ,#nd stepped across the threshold, calling 
Madeline’s name. 

Madeline was not within, and the first object that at- 
tracted the stepmother’s attention was a note, addressed 
to herself on Madeline’s writing-desk. 

“ The girl has fled,” she whispered, as with whitened face 
and throbbing heart she tore open the envelope, and pre- 
pared to read Madeline’s last message. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE MILLIONAIRE’S HOME. 

44 Wealth never can fill an empty heart, 

’Tis the burden of many a weary song — 

In life and its hopes we have no part. 

How long must we suffer? Oh, Lord, how long?” 

On the morning subsequent to the death of Lester Clare, 
a family of three persons were seated at breakfast in the 
spacious dining-room of an elegant mansion in Pierrepont 
Street, Brooklyn. 

This family consisted of the well-known millionaire, 
Ralph Delmore, his beautiful daughter, Leone, and his 
stately wife, Valerie Delmore, who was scarcely less lovely 
than their child, with the saine rich olive complexion and 
luminous southern eyes. 

Everything upon which the eye rested betokened the 
possession of boundless wealth and refined taste, from the 
table, with its handsome furnishings of rare flowers, costly 
china, and antique plate, to the elegant morning robes of 
the ladies, heavy with embroidery, the cost of which would 
have been sufficient to support s^me poor family for a year 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


16 

or more, and yet, had one entered the home of the poorest 
laborer gathered with his family of hungry young ones 
around their scanty morning meal of coarse bread and 
watery coffee, they would most likely have found happier 
and more contented faces than those grouped around the 
table of the millionaire. 

Mrs. Delmore rarely spoke, save to address some ordei 
to the servant in attendance. 

Leone scarcely touched the dainty food set before her, 
and looked the very picture of ennui , while Mr. Delmore 
interested himself in the news of the day, as contained in 
the columns of the New York Herald. 

Suddenly the latter threw the paper from him with an 
exclamation of impatience, and prepared to leave the 
table. 

Mrs. Delmore followed his example, leaving Leone alone. 

Leone soon signed for the servant to remove the break- 
fast dishes, and taking up the paper her father had lately 
been reading, began to glance carelessly over its columns. 

Suddenly, while thus engaged, the listless, indifferent ex- 
pression her face had hitherto worn changed to one of sor- 
row and dismay, and her clear young voice trembled with 
suppressed feeling as she read aloud the announcement 
which was the cause of her agitation, a few brief lines 
under the heading of ‘ ‘ Deaths. ’ ’ 

“ On Tuesday, July 1st, at his residence, No. — Fifth 
Avenue, Lester Aubrey Clare, aged 44 years. Funeral 
Thursday, July 3rd, at 10 o’clock a. m., from Trinity 
Church. ’ ’ 

“Madeline! Madeline!” murmured Leone. “Only this 
morning I was thinking of her, and envying her her hap- 
piness, and now — darling Little Sunshine! how short-lived 
was that happiness.” 

Leone’s proud eyes were full of tears now, and the face, 
usually so cold and haughty, was beautiful with that look 
of tender, w^omanly sympathy that came so seldom there. 

Mr. Delmore, emerging from his library half an hour 
later, ran against a servant who was running at an unusual 
pace along the hallway. 

‘ ‘ Awkward fellow ! where are you going at such a rate 
of speed? Do you think you are in the stableyard?” cried 
the millionaire, angrily. 

“Please, sir, it’s to the stableyard I’m goin’. I beg 
your pardon for runnin’ agin you, sir, but Miss Leone 
ordered me to get the carriage ready as quick as possi- 
ble ” 

“ You need not stop to explain, go along and do as you 
were told,” interrupted the master, and the servant 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


17 


obeyed with alacrity, glad to escape so easily, while Ralph 
Delmore made his way directly to the apartments of his 
daughter, entering her presence without even the cere' 
mony of knocking upon the door to announce his coming. 

Leone’s dark, beautiful face still wore its tender, soft- 
ened look, while tears glittered like dew drops on her curl- 
ing lashes, but as she caught sight of her father she dashed 
the tears away, and came forward to meet him coldly, 
without betraying any of the surprise she felt at this un- 
expected and unusual visit. 

* ‘ May I inquire where you intended going so early this 
morning?” Mr. Delmore asked quietly, with the cool, con- 
temptuous air of one conscious of his own power, and 
glorying in his authority. 

All the tenderness had died out of Leone’s dusky face 
by this time, and she met her father’s steady gaze with 
one of cold defiance. 

4 4 1 intended, and still intend to go to my young friend 
and school companion, Madeline Clare. Doubtless you 
read the notice of her father’s death in the New York 
papers this morning.” 

Ralph Delmore started, and a flush rose to his dark 
features, fading suddenly to leave him pale as the dead. 

He muttered something once* or twice which sounded 
like a repetition of the name 44 Lester Clare.” 

Leone did not notice his agitation, having turned from 
him to resume her preparations for the intended visit, di- 
rectly after she had answered his question. 

44 Leone!” 

Again her father’s voice arrested her, sterner, colder, 
and more harsh than ever, and the girl turned toward him 
in surprise. 

‘‘Leone! I forbid you to visit Lester Clare’s daughter. 
Do you understand me? Now or at any other time I forbid 
you to seek the girl of whom you have spoken. I desire 
that all intimacy between you be from this hour at an 
end.” 

He turned away with these words, as if there was noth- 
ing further to be said on the subject, and walked a few 
steps toward the door ; but Leone stood between him and 
this means of exit, her great dark eyes dilated like those of 
a hunted stag, her bosom heaving with quick, sobbing 
breaths, and her jeweled hands half extended, as if in sup- 
plication. 

4 4 You cannot mean it ! You would not be so cruel ! Oh, 
sir, consider well before you speak again ! My life is so dull 
and cheerless, and the girl of whose friendship you would 
rob me is the one thing on earth that I love ’ ’ 

The words ended in a burst of passionate weeping, and 


18 LITTLE SUNSHINE. 

for one moment Leone hid her face in her hands, unable to 
control herself. ^ ■ ''.7 

Her father’s voice broke in upon her grief, cold, stern, 
and pitiless: 

‘ ‘ The only thing bn earth you love ! Do you think this 
argument is likely to win your cause? Do you forget what 
you owe me, who have surrounded you with every luxury ? 

Do you forget that you are ’ ’ 

Leone sprung suddenly erect before him, every feature 
as set and white as if chiseled in marble, and her eyes dark 
with furious scorn. 

‘ ‘ Do not speak the word : I have not forgotten. Heaven 
pity me ! I am your slave , to be dealt with as my master 
sees fit. Leave me now. I shall remember your last man- 
date. I have made my first and last appeal to you.” 

Mr. Delmore smiled, well satisfied with the promise her 
words implied. 

‘ 1 Do not he silly, Leone : you are my only child and heir- 
ess. I simply claim the obedience a father has a right to 
expect. Good- morning, my dear. I shall make use of the 
carriage this morning, since you will not need it;” and, 
with a polite bow and a light laugh of mockery and exulta- 
tion, Ralph Delmore strode from his daughter’s room, leav- 
ing the girl alone to struggle with the hitter feelings he had 
awakened in her heart. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A CRUEL DISAPPOINTMENT. 

“ And the wondering concourse gather’d 
Round the pale, sad face, unknown, 

Where the soften’d lamplight gently 
On the sorrow’d features shone.” 

Madeline Clare had listened to the reading of her 
father’s will with the same unnatural calmness that had 
characterized all her actions since the dreadful hour of that 
father’s death. It is even doubtful if she understood the 
meaning of the words to which she listened. She glanced 
from face to face with wide, tearless eyes, while Mrs. Clare 
wept behind her black-bordered handkerchief as if her 
very heart would break. 

Madeline breathed a sigh of intense relief when at last 
the lawyer ceased reading, and folded the will, and she 
found herself at liberty to leave the room. 

One fact was firmly fixed in her brain ; the fact that this 
home — in which the happy and innocent years of her 
childhood had been passed— was now the property of 
Louise Clare. 

“I must leave it; I could not breathe another hour 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


19 


under her roof; I must escape from it— and from the 
presence of that man whom papa trusted, Dr. Townley, 
ivho is my stepmother' s friend .” 

The words were spoken without any trace of emotion, as 
Madeline paced the floor of her own pretty chamber, 
gathering together little articles endeared to her by tender 
associations, preparatory to her departure from her dead 
father’s home. 

Among these treasures was a small volume of poems 
bound in crimson and gold, upon the fly-leaf of which was 
written in a bold, manly hand, “ To my 4 Little Sunshine,’ 
on her sixteenth birthday and underneath, her father’s 
signature, “Lester A. Clare.” 

It may have been the sight of these words, written by a 
hand now cold in death, that saved the girl from madness. 

The stony calmness was broken at last; the dry and 
burning eyes filled with a sudden rush of tears, and clasp- 
ing the book to her breast, Madeline wept long and bitterly, 
lying face downward on the floor in an agony of grief im- 
possible to describe. 

She never knew how long she had lain thus, but when at 
last she arose from her prostrate position she was weak and 
exhausted, but firm in her determination to leave the shelter 
of her stepmother’s roof. 

It never occurred to her where she was going ; she had no 
thought of the future, no care for the present, only an in- 
eradicable desire to escape the presence of Louise Clare and 
Dr. Townley. 

During these days of trial she seemed to have forgotten 
the very existence of Basil Brandon, the bold, bad man, 
who had vowed in his heart to possess the beautiful orphan, 
by fair means or foul. 

Three hours after the reading of the will, Madeline stole 
quietly out of the house that was no longer her home, a 
little, black-robed figure, with a white face hidden by the 
folds of a crape veil, and trembling hands holding fast the 
few articles she had brought with her, all that remained to 
her of the past that was dead. 

4 ‘ Oh, papa ! If I might die and go where you have gone, ’ ’ 
she whispered, as she turned her back on the old house, 
never more to cross its threshold. Seeing her in that hour 
of her desolation, one would scarcely have recognized the 
merry, laughing little fairy, who had sung in very gladness 
of heart only a few weeks before, ‘ ‘ This world is very 
lovely. Oh, my God! I thank thee that I live.” 

Where should she go? At last this question suggested 
itself to her. Where should sher go, and to whom could 
she appeal for advice? A light broke over her pale young 


20 LITTLE SUNSHINE . 

face at last, and her lips parted in the utterance of the name 
“ Leone.’’ 

“ Leone will tell me what to do, Leone will help me to find 
some means of supporting myself. Oh ! yes, I shall go to 
Leone; why did I not think of her before?' 5 

The memory of Leone, and Leone’s love for her, seemed 
to lift something of the burden from Madeline’s heart, and 
while Louise Clare was perusing the note her stepdaughter 
had left her, the latter was on her way to Pierrepont 
Street, where a cruel disappointment awaited her. Long 
before she reached Leone’s house Madeline became con- 
scious that a feeling of weakness was •stealing over her. 
She had eaten nothing during the three days of bitter sor- 
row through which she had just passed, and was actually 
weak from hunger, although the very thought of food was 
loathsome to her. There was a blinding mist before her 
eyes as she ascended the broad stone steps of the Delmore 
mansion, and the bundle she carried almost slipped from 
her neverless hands, but she remembered that she would 
soon be in the presence of Leone— of Leone, who loved her, 
and in the shelter of whose arms she might sob out the 
story of her sorrow and desolation. The servant who 
opened the door for her looked wonderingly at the little 
crape-robed figure, standing back respectfully that she 
might enter; but when she handed him her card, with the 
request that it be given at once to Miss Delmore, and his 
eyes fell upon the name printed thereon, Madeline A. 
Clare, the expression of his face changed. 

“1 do not think Miss Delmore is at home, but step into 
the parlor, please, while I see,” he said, and Madeline en- 
tered the room indicated, where she sank into the nearest 
chair, her heart throbbing painfully, and a red glare as of 
fire before her eyes. 

It seemed an hour to her, but in reality only a few min- 
utes had passed before the parlor door was thrown open, 
and a lady in rich, sweeping garments of silk entered the 
room. 

“ Leone!” whispered Madeline, throwing back her crape 
veil, and coming forward to meet her friend with trembling, 
outstretched hands ; but it was not Leone who greeted her. 
The face upon which her eyes fell was that of Valerie 
Delmore. 

“Leone! is she not at home?” said Madeline, anxiously, 
and Mrs. Delmore smiled sweetly as she replied: 

“ Leone is at Newport, where her father and I go to- 
morrow. Iam sorry, Miss Clare; she would have called 
on you before her departure, but she feared to intrude so 
soon after your bereavement. Have you any message for 
her?” 


TATTLE SUNSHINE . 


2i 


There was something in the tone in which these words 
were uttered that sent a chill to the heart of Valerie Del- 
more’s companion. 

“I am not welcome here. Her words and looks are 
cold,” thought Madeline, and a few moments later she had 
left the house, with that feeling of weakness and dizzi- 
ness growing upon her, and that red glare still before her 
eyes. 

She could never afterward have explained the impulse 
which prompted her to look back toward Leone’s home, 
after she was some distance from it : but look back she did, 
and there, pressed closely against one of the window panes 
on the second floor of the Delmore mansion she beheld the 
beautiful, dark face of Leone. 

The truth dawned upone Madeline in a moment. 

Leone had refused to see her; Leone was not at New- 
port. 

This was a cruel blow to the girl, who had already borne 
almost too much for her feeble strength, and as she hurried 
along Pierrepont Street toward Columbia, where she in- 
tended to take a car to Fulton Ferry, she could with diffi- 
culty restrain the sobs that broke from her overburdened 
heart at the thought of Leone’s cruelty. 

She had almost reached Columbia Street ; she could hear 
the jingling of the car-bells, when a great darkness seemed 
to envelop her, her limbs refused to bear her light weight, 
and without a word she sank to the sidewalk in a death- 
like swoon. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE POET’S PROTEGEE. 

“ Some spirits are too great to dwell 
Content in mortal clay, 

The fleshy tongue can never tell 
The silent promptings of their way. 

While those to whom the realms of thought 
Lie hidden and unknown, 

Regard their lives as good for naught, 

Contrasted with their own.” 

“ Bear up a little longer, my son, my brave boy ! Surely 
something will turn up; it cannot always be this way. 
God is not deaf to the widow’s prayers, Audley. He will 
answer them ere long. Speak to me, Audley; it breaks 
your old mother’s heart to see her boy abandon himself 
to despair!” 

Audley Vernon, the man to whom these words were ad- 
dressed, lifted his head from his clasped hands, laughing 
bitterly. 

“ Turn up, indeed! Bah! Mother, I am growing tired of 


22 


LITTLE SUNS HIKE. 


bearing you repeat Micawber’s motto, and tired of waiting 
for that ‘ something ’ to turn up, wffiile I watch your face 
growing day by day more wan and pale, and know that 
you are suffering for the actual necessaries of life. Dear 
Heaven ! a laborer can provide a home for his dear ones, 
while I ” 

Again Audley Vernon’s head dropped forward on his 
clasped hands, while his strong frame was shaken by 
the violence of the emotion as a reed is shaken by a storm. 

Again the old mother endeavored to comfort and cheer 
him, kneeling beside him with her arms around his broad 
shoulders, and her white head close to his own, 

“ My boy, you are a poet, a genius. To you every flower 
and blade of grass speaks in its own sweet language, ’ ’ she 
began. 

But once again her son interrupted her, folding his arms 
around her, and bending his head until his own curling, 
black locks mingled with her snow-white hair. 

“ What matters it that the beauties of nature speak to 
me, as you say, in their ‘ own sweet language?’ I have 
tried to interpret their voices, and what has it profited me? 
I see you, my mother, actually starving before my eyes ; 
look around our home— these two cheerless rooms — the 
best I have been able to provide for you with all my talent. 
Ah, I cannot endure this life ; I must go to some other 
land ; I must seek to earn a livelihood by some other 
means. I have fallen so low that I envy the laborer climb- 
ing his ladder with a hod on his shoulder. ’ ’ 

Audley Vernon had put his mother gently from him, and 
was pacing the floor of their small sitting-room, with an 
air of deep dejection. 

He was a handsome, noble-looking fellow, this poor poet, 
dark as a Spaniard, with thick, clustering hair of purple 
blackness, eyes dark as midnight, and a handsome, firm 
mouth, half concealed by a drooping black mustache. 

The home of which he had spoken so bitterly consisted 
of two small rooms on the top floor of a house in Columbia 
Street, Brooklyn, not far from Pierrepont. 

The old lady watched her son’s restless movements with 
sorrowful, tearful eyes, until at last he stopped before her, 
and drew her white hand to a resting-place on his shoul- 
der. 

“ Mother mine,” he said, gently, “ I am a selfish fellow, 
or I would not grieve you so. There— do not weep ; per- 
haps something better is in store for us. I had such a 
glorious dream last night ; perhaps it was sent to prepare 
me for a happier future. Cheer up, little mother, I am off 
now to the office of the publishers, Morton & Brandon. 
Would it not be glorious news if they had consented to pub- 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


23 


lish my poems? Something tells me to hope, mother; pray 
for my success while I am gone. ’ ’ 

Audley laughed lightly as he concluded, but something 
in the expression of his face belied his hopeful words. 

Mrs. Vernon kissed him fondly, and watched his tall, 
erect form, until it had disappeared down the staircase, 
and then knelt by her narrow cot-bed to pray, as he had 
bade her, that his mission might be successful, while 
Audley walked with slow, reluctant steps toward the of- 
fice of Morton & Brandon, his heart sinking lower and 
lower with every step, as he went over in his mind the 
scene awaiting him at the office in question — the roll of 
MSS. handed back to him, the words of the publisher so 
coolly spoken — “Sorry, Mr. Vernon, but we really cannot 
publish your verses; good-day, sir” — words which would 
fall like a cruel blow on the heart of him to whom they 
would be addressed. 

Audley had gone through this little scene so often that 
he had nerved himself to bear it without betraying what 
he suffered, so that on this day he faced the junior part- 
ner of the firm, Mr. Brandon, as coolly and indifferently 
as if the latter’s answer was a matter of little moment to 
him. 

Somewhat to his surprise, Mr. Brandon greeted him cor- 
dially, and invited him into the inner or private office. 

A wild hope sprung to life in the poet’s heart, but he 
crushed it back, knowing how bitter would be the disap- 
pointment if it failed him. 

Half an hour later he emerged from the publisher’s 
office with a face so changed that one would scarcely have 
recognized him. 

His feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground, as he has- 
tened toward his poor home. His eyes shone with a 
strange, intense light, and from time to time were lifted 
heavenward, as if in thanksgiving to God, who had at last 
answered his fervent prayers. 

His poems would be sent out into the world ; his name 
would be known and honored at last, and for a moment he 
forgot the roll of bank-notes in his breast -pocket. He was 
simply the poet, rejoicing in the success of his beautiful 
dream-fancies, living for the time in his glorious, ideal 
world, forgetful of the stern realities of life. 

He had almost reached his home ; in fact, he was but a 
few yards from his own door, when he was attracted by 
the sight of a crowd gathered around a prostrate form on 
the sidewalk. 

“A child has been run over, ’ ’ was his first thought, and 
in a moment he had pushed through the crowd, to find, 


24 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


not a child, but a beautiful girl, in crape-trimmed gar- 
ments, lying like one dead in the midst of the rude throng. 

In another moment Audley Vernon had lifted the girl in 
his strong arms, saying to one of the bystanders : 

“ I shall take her to my mother. Go for Dr. Stuart, No. 
— Pierrepont Street. Yes, I know he Avill charge for his 
services, but I can pay him. I am no longer poor; see!” 
and with the pride of an exultant child he drew the roll 
of bank-notes from his pocket, and held it before the aston- 
ished eyes of the man whom he had ordered to go for the 
doctor. 

The man needed no further urging, but started off at 
once on his errand, while Audley Vernon carried the in- 
animate form of Madeline Clare to his mother’s rooms, and 
in a few words explained how he had found her, before ac- 
quainting the old lady with his own success. 

It would be impossible to depict the old lady’s joy when 
she realized the good fortune that had come to her boy at 
last. 

The sudden transition from despair to joy might have 
had some serious effect upon her, had it not been for the 
necessity compelling her to bear up for the sake of the help- 
less girl committed to her charge. 

The doctor whom Audley had summoned looked very 
grave as he bent over Madeline’s pale young face, and in 
answer to their questions replied : 

‘ ‘ I cannot promise to save her. The girl has suffered 
some terrible shock to her nervous system. She will 
probably be delirious when she is roused from this swoon ; 
it will be best to listen attentively to any words she may 
let fall, for some clew to her identity. She is a lady with- 
out a doubt ; this ring alone would prove that she is some 
rich man’s daughter.” 

The doctor had drawn a ring from Madeline’s finger 
while speaking — a small golden circlet with a cluster dia- 
mond clasp. 

“ Ah, there is an inscription inside; perhaps this will tell 
her name,” he suddenly ejaculated, carrying the ring to 
the light, and examining it carefully. 

‘ ‘ Little Sunshine !” he ejaculated. ‘ 4 What a queer idea, ’ ’ 
and he handed Madeline’s ring back to Audley Vernon, 
who repeated aloud the words engraved on it, “ Little Sun- 
shine, ’ ’ the pretty pet name by which Aubrey Clare had 
loved to call his golden-haired child. 

“ This ring will establish the young lady’s identity,” he 
said, simply, with a curious pang at his heart as he glanced 
toward the sweet face lying so white and still upon the 
coarse, white pillows —a face more beautiful than any that 
had ever haunted the poet’s dreams, 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A WORKING-GIRL. 

t5 Tour soul, is full of future hopes, 

Which yet are all untried; 

Mine is a sepulcher of those 

Which blossomed awhile, then c 

True to the doctor’s prediction Madeline awakened from 
her deep swoon wildly delirious, but they could discover 
nothing from her disjointed ravings, save that she was 
flying from her home as from some threatened danger, 
and her piteous voice called always for the father who 
was no more. 

“Papa, papa! where have you gone? Oh, why have 
you left your ‘ Little Sunshine ’ ?’ ’ Sometimes the cry 
would be “Leone,” or “Leo,” but no other names were 
mentioned. 

Audley Vernon’s noble heart was filled with pity for this 
fair child whom fate had thrown in his path. 

Her beautiful face was like a flower or a poem, suggesting 
thoughts that filled the poet’s soul with a new and strange 
delight. 

Her youth, her beauty and her helplessness appealed to 
every chivalrous feeling in his loyal heart, and he rejoiced 
in the good fortune that had come to him, since it enabled 
him to provide for the helpless young creature. 

On the second day of Madeline’s presence in his humble 
home Dr, Stuart suggested that some effort be made to find 
the friends of the suffering girl, but Audley shrank from 
the thought with a singular feeling of reluctance. 

Madeline’s ravings made it clear to him that some un- 
happiness had driven her from her home, and until she was 
able to have a voice in the matter he was unwilling that 
she should be given in charge of those from whom she had 
evidently been flying when illness overcame her and she 
fell like a broken lily by the w ayside. 

Dr. Stuart shrugged his shoulders significantly, but said 
nothing further on the subject, and Madeline was left to 
the care of her new friends. 

Toward the close of that second day the sands of her 
young life ran very low, and, forgetting his appointment 
with Mr. Brandon, his publisher, Audley sat pale and silent 
in the little sitting-room, while in the inner chamber his 
mother bent anxiously over the couch of her son’s pro- 
tegee. 

“Papa! papa!” the sweet young voice still called, grow- 
ing weaker with every repetition of the beloved name, and 
broken often by low moans of pain. 


2b 

$ 


tied. 


'i'i 



26 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


Audley bowed his face in his clasped hands with a silent 
prayer for the young life that seemed ebbing so fast to its 
close, and while he sat thus, a low knock sounded on the 
door, and believing Dr. Stuart had returned he opened it 
heartily, to admit Brandon, ‘ ‘ of the firm of Morton & 
Brandon,” publishers, known also to the reader as Basil 
Brandon, the lover of Madeline’s stepsister, Laura Vereton. 

Brandon looked angry and irritated, and greeted Audley 
Vernon somewhat roughly, chiding the latter for his fail- 
ure to be at the office according to promise. The fact was, 
Brandon had learned from Laura on the previous evening 
of Madeline’s flight from her home, and as his passion for 
Little Sunshine grew stronger every hour, he had resolved 
to find her, and by his devotion and tender care of her win 
her regard and afterward her love. 

“My partner desires to see you at once, Vernon; it is 
strange that you should neglect your appointment ; are you 
in the habit ” 

Brandon stopped short here, for from the little inner 
chamber came the sound of a voice well known to him; a 
voice that made his heart throb with a feeling of exulta- 
tion, for he realized that Little Sunshine was found. 

“Is your sister ill?” he questioned, trying to speak in- 
differently, although there was an exultant flush on his 
dark face, and a strange, unpleasant glitter in his small, 
sinister eyes. 

“ Very ill,” replied xVudley, at first purposing to leave 
Brandon under the impression that Madeline was his sister; 
but soon abandoning this intention, the very thought of 
falsehood or deception being hateful to him. 

“ Come with me at once to the office, Vernon; my car- 
riage is at the door, and Morton is waiting to see you,” ex- 
claimed Brandon, the look of irritation having vanished 
from his face as by magic. 

Audley’ s handsome face flushed as he glanced from his 
own shabby, threadbare coat to the fine broadcloth of his 
companion, and he was about to decline the honor of rid- 
ing with the latter, when that gentleman drew the poet’s 
arm familiarly within his own, and led the way to the car- 
riage. 

Before Brandon’s carriage had reached the publishing 
house its owner had succeeded in drawing from the poet 
the story of the finding of Madeline. 

Brandon resolved not to make himself known as a friend 
of Madeline’s, since he had no desire that she should be 
taken back to the home of Laura Vereton. 

‘ ‘ Poor girl ! have you made any effort to discover her 
people?” he asked with assumed carelessness, to which 
Vernon replied: , . 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


27 


4 ‘ I have not made any effort in that direction ; perhaps 
it is my duty to do so. ” 

He spoke somewhat sadly, as if the thought was dis- 
agreeable to him, and Brandon, gazing keenly into his 
eyes, read something in their earnest depths that displeased 
him. He dropped the lids over his own eyes to hide their 
expression of annoyance, but after a moment’s pause he 
turned again toward Vernon, saying: 

4 4 Since, as you imagine, the girl has voluntarily left her 
home of her own accord, it would perhaps be kinder to 
wait until she recovers, and allow her to decide the ques' 
tion for herself. ’ ’ 

Vernon brightened up in a moment. These were his own 
sentiments exactly, and it pleased him to hear a disinter- 
ested party agree with them. 

Their arrival at the publishing house put an end to 
further conversation on the subject, and Vernon was soon 
closeted with Morton, the senior partner of the great firm, 
while in his own private office Brandon pondered over the 
story he had heard, and arranged in his scheming brain 
the details of a plan by which he hoped to win the grati- 
tude, and perhaps the love, of the girl who now despised 
him. 

At the end of two weeks Madeline began slowly to re- 
cover. 

During all this time Brandon had seized on every oppor- 
tunity that offered of visiting the home of the poet, win- 
ning golden opinions from mother and son by his pleasant 
ways, and little, unobtrusive acts of kindness, and never 
seeking to intrude himself on the notice of Madeline, who, 
after the first week of her illness, was no longer delirious. 

Brandon always lowered his voice while speaking with 
Audley, so that Madeline, in the inner chamber, never sus- 
pected that the gentleman who conversed so often with her 
kind friend was Basil Brandon, the man whom of all others 
she would have avoided. 

The day came when Madeline was able to walk out into 
the little sitting-room, and then Brandon absented himself, 
biding his time, and waiting a favorable opportunity of 
trying the success of his plan. 

It would be impossible to describe the gratitude of Made- 
line toward the unknown friends who had tended her so 
carefully during her illness. 

She clung to Mrs. Vernon with a daughter’s tenderness, 
winning that kind old lady’s heart completely. 

With Audley she was somewhat shy, while he — well, he 
loved her with all the fervor of his ardent, poetic nature, 
with a love that was fated to bring the bitterness of death to 
his heart, a love that would endure through all the days of 


28 


darkness and sorrow that were destined to come upon them, 
faithful, unchanging, and true to the last. 

He waited patiently for her to tell him something of her 
history, but did not think of questioning her. -To him she 
was simply Little Sunshine, the woman whom he loved. 

He wouid not have betrayed his love for her while she 
was dependent on him for the very food she ate, had not an 
event occurred which threatened to rob him of her. 

Returning from Brandon’s office one afternoon, he found 
his mother pleading earnestly with Sunshine, who was 
dressed as for the street, with her pretty pale face shrouded 
in the thick folds of her crape veil, to hide the tears that 
fell thick and fast from her brown eyes as she listened to 
her friend’s pleading. 

‘ ‘ Oh, Audley, I am so glad you are here ! This poor 
child is bent on going out to seek for work, so weak as she 
is, too. We must not allow it,” cried Mrs. Vernon, as her 
son entered the room. 

‘ ‘ To seek for work ! Why, child, what has put this idea 
into your head?” Audley asked, while Madeline threw back 
her veil and answered, bravely : 

“I am not a child, Mr. Vernon, and I cannot sit with 
folded hands while a stranger earns my livelihood. I am 
an orphan; I have no home, and I must earn my daily 
bread. Do not seek to change my determination. I have 
oeen talking over this with Mabel Smith, the little working- 
girl who lives up stairs, and she has promised to speak for 
me to the forewoman of the shop where she works. It is a 
shirt-factory, and Mabel says I will find it quite easy to run 
a sewing-machine when I have learned. I am going there 
now to learn if the forewoman has consented to take me. ’ ’ 

Madeline had dashed the tears from her eyes, and was 
looking up into Audley’ s face with a pitiful little smile. 

He was pale to the very lips, and as Madeline ceased 
speaking he came toward her, and caught both her hands 
in his own. 

“Child! child! you cannot know how you pain me,” he 
said, huskily, adding, after a moment’s pause: “A shop- 
girl — a sewing-machine girl — you, so tenderly reared. 
There ! do not start so ; I do not know your story, or what 
cruel fate drove you from your home ; that is your secret . 
I only know — oh, child, forgive me for saying it — I only 
know that I love you — that you have brought brightest 
sunshine into my lonely life. I am poor, but Heaven has 
been very good to me, and I see a brighter prospect opening 
before me. Will you share it, Little Sunshine? Will you 
give me the right to provide a home for you, my little lily- 
flower? — will you be my wife?” 

Madeline had listened to these words in perfect amaze- 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 29 

ment. Such thoughts as love and marriage had never oc- 
curred to her. 

At first her brown eyes met the ardent glances of the 
poet unquailingly, but presently they dropped in confusion, 
and she trembled so that he was obliged to support her 
with his arm — by no means an unpleasant task. 

“ I do not know what to say to you; you have frightened 
me,” she said, innocently. 

And hoping from her manner that she was about 
to yield, Audley clasped her closer, breathing tender, 
passionate vows of love, in language that filled the girl’s 
heart with a new, strange feeling of pleasure. He would 
take her to some peaceful little home far away from New 
York, where, amidst the beauties of nature, and with her 
love to inspire him, he would write poems that would make 
his name a power in the land. 

Mrs. Vernon had discreetly left the room while the scene 
was being enacted, and as Madeline listened to her lover’s 
glowing vision of the future, something of the old, sunny 
look crept back into her face, and she was about to speak 
the word that would have made Audley Vernon the hap- 
piest of mortals, when like a lightning’s flash across a 
cloudless sky, the scene of her father’s death- bed arose be- 
fore her mental view. She sprung away from Audley’s 
encircling arms with a low cry of pain, and stood before 
him, white and trembling. 

‘ ‘ I can never be your wife, never , never ! For the dear 
God’s sake do not question me! I can be no man’s wife. 
Audley! Forgive me. I shall seek the employment of 
which I told you. I must have work, hard, wearying 
work ! only that will save me from doing something to end 
my wretched existence. Oh, Heaven ! I cannot bear the 
sight of your pained face!” 

And covering her eyes to shut out the vision of Audley 
Vernon’s face, Madeline hurried from the room, and was 
making haste to reach the cars which would take her to 
the part of Brooklyn in which the shirt factory was situ- 
ated, when her name was called in a voice that sent a thrill 
of terror to her breast, and she found herself face to face 
with Basil Brandon. 


30 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


> 


CHAPTER IX. 

BRANDON’S THREAT. 

“ Oh, life with thy blotted page turned down, 

That no careless eye may read, 

What is the secret within thy fold. 

Why do the heart-wounds bleed? 

Must the thorn be worn, the cross be borne, 

No joy in the future lie, 

And the comforter’s kiss, with its healing touch, 

This sorrowing soul pass by!” Jennie King 

* 4 Madeline! Little Sunshine! Look up and speak to 
me!” ejaculated Basil Brandon, as he forcibly possessed 
himself of Madeline’s hand before she had recovered from 
the surprise occasioned by her sudden and unexpected 
meeting with him. 

The girl was still very weak, and the painful scene 
through which she had just passed with Audley Vernon 
had completely unnerved her, but the sound of Basil Bran- 
don’s voice and the touch of his hands aroused her as 
nothing else would have done, and she had soon wrenched 
her hands from his clasp, and stood before him like a little 
pythoness, erect and dauntless, gazing at him with a look 
in her brown eyes before which his own dropped in mo- 
mentary confusion. 

“Let me pass, sir, I have nothing to say to you. You 
are Laura Vereton’s betrothed husband. I am or will be 
only a poor working-girl. My father is dead, and I have 
left the home that was no longer mine. Oh, Mr. Brandon ! 
if you are indeed a gentleman you will not follow and per - 
secute a poor orphan. You have partaken of my dead fa- 
ther’s hospitality, eaten at his table and clasped his hand 
in friendship ; can you still, remembering this, be the enemy 
of his unhappy child?” 

While Madeline had been speaking this, Brandon’s coun 
tenance underwent many changes ; something in the low, 
pathetic tone of the girl’s voice, more than the simple 
words she uttered, brought a flush of shame to his dark, 
sinister face, and a still, small voice in his heart whispered 
that he was a coward and an ingrate indeed, and unworthy 
the title of gentleman. 

For a moment he was tempted to yield to the voice of 
conscience, and lifted his eyes from the ground to answer 
Madeline that henceforth she would be free from persecu- 
tion, but the very sight of the face lifted pleadingly to his 
own, drove such a resolution from his brain. 

From the very hour in which he had first beheld her, 
the beautiful, happy, laughing child rejoicing in her free- 
dom from school discipline, and lavishing her innocent 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


Ol 

ol 


career on the father who had so suddenly been called away 
f r jm her— the desire to possess her had grown deeper 
and deeper in Basil Brandon’s heart, and now, when fate 
had thrown her in his path, a homeless outcast, and he 
knew of a plan by which he was pretty certain of winning 
her consent to be his, he could not let the opportunity es- 
cape him. 

She had never looked more beautiful in her sunniest 
hours than now, with her sweet face pale from recent illness, 
looking white as any iily by contrast with her black attire, 
and an expression of deep sadness in her brown eyes. 

Brandon longed to fold the little trembling figure to his 
heart. 

At that moment he believed that he loved Madeline 
Clare with the first pure and honest love that had ever en- 
tered his worldly heart. 

“Walk with me a little way; let us turn into Willow 
Street, where it is quiet and we may talk unobserved. 
Madeline you shall not refuse ! I must make you under- 
stand that I am not your enemy, that the one desire of my 
heart is to be your best and truest friend.” 

He was speaking with passionate earnestness, and before 
Madeline could make further demur, he had drawn her 
hand within his arm, and turned with her into the quiet 
and retired street of which he had spoken. 

The touch of her tiny hand thrilled him, and carried 
away by the excitement of the moment, he proposed that 

she should accompany him to the residence of Dr. T , a 

popular minister of the gospel, and then and there become 
his wife. 

Madeline was frightened by his vehemence. She began 
to fear that he was not in his right senses, or that he had 
been drinking, and trembling with fear, she cast her eye 
around her as if seeking some one to whom she might ap- 
peal for protection. 

Perhaps Brandon guessed her thoughts, for he smiled 
bitterly, and addressed her in a slightly different tone of 
voice : ft 

“ Forgive me, little one ; I have alarmed you. Oh, Made- 
line, why do you shrink from me? What have I done to 
incur your hatred ? If I have erred, it was through love 
for you. From the first hour of our meeting your image 
has filled my heart to the exclusion of every other affection. 
Think what it is, Madeline Clare, to hold a man’s fate in 
those little hands of yours. I am not a good man, child ; I 
am rash, passionate and revengeful. I have had things 
pretty much my own way all my life. I have never yet 
been thwarted in any object I greatly desired to obtain, 
and now — 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


He paused abruptly. 

It would not do to threaten the high-spirited little 
creature by his side, but in his mind he concluded the sen- 
tence as follows : 

“And now that I have sworn to possess you, Madeline 
Clare, you shall not escape me. ’ ’ 

Aloud, he added : 

‘‘You could make of me what you would, Madeline, for 
I love you Avith all the energy of my soul. It is true I had 
asked your stepsister to be my Avife, but I never loved her. 
She is beautiful, it is true, with the cold, pale loveliness of 
a statue, and she Avould have made a stately mistress for 
my home, but noAV that you have Avon my heart, Little 
Sunshine, it Avould be a cruel Avrong to Laura to ask her to 
share my lot Avhen, Avith every pulse of my heart, I loA^e 
another. Laura, herself, Avill acknoAvledge this. Madeline, 
you have left your late father’s home for some secret cause. 
Some great Avrong has been done, some crime committed, 
the nature of which you alone possess the secret. Be my 
Avife, Little Sunshine, and I promise you the Avrong shall 
be righted, the guilty punished. Great Heaven ! Madeline, 
my darling, you are ill! You are fainting!” 

It Avould seem, indeed, that Madeline Avas about to lose 
consciousness, so excessive Avas the agitation caused by 
Brandon's last Avords. By a mighty effort of the will she 
recovered herself, and drew herself free from his encircling 
arm. 

“You spoke of a secret, a crime! and of bringing the 
guilty to punishment. Oh, Mr. Brandon, for the kwe of 
Heaven ! do not seek to penetrate Oh ! what am I say- 

ing. Do not mind me, my brain is not quite right yet ; 
there is no secret, no crime. I — I do not know Avhat you 
mean. ’ ’ As she uttered these Avild, incoherent Avords, Basil 
Brandon looked at her in speechless astonishment, Avhile in 
her turn Madeline regarded him in a species of terror im- 
possible to describe. 

Brandon had made use of the Avords, “ a Avrong done, a 
crime committed,” Avithout any definite idea as to his own 
meaning. From the fact that Madeline had fled from hei 
home immediately after her father’s funeral, he suspected 
that something Avas wrong betAveen the orphan and her 
stepmother, and he often found himself Avondering Avhat 
occurred between Madeline and her beloA^ed father during 
the hour she j>assed alone Avith the latter just previous to 
his death ; but it ne\ T er occurred to Brandon that there had 
been any actual crime connected with the circumstance, 
and the terror into which his Avords plunged Madeline filled 
him with amazement. Madeline saAv at once, from the ex- 
pression of Brandon’s face, that the latter did not, as she 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


33 

had feared, share the secret of that awful death-chamber. 
Conscious that his eyes were fastened on her, Madeline 
tried hard to hide her agitation. 

“ How silly I am!” she cried, with a pitiful attempt at a 
laugh, which only resulted in a dry, tearless sob. “My 
brain is slightly bewildered, Mr. Brandon; I must leave 
you, I must go back to my kind friends. I— I am ill and 
weary. ’ ’ 

She turned from him as if to retrace her steps as she con- 
cluded, but Brandon was determined to have his answer. 

“Wait one moment longer, Madeline; before you return 
to the home of Audley Vernon I vMst know my fate. Will 
you or will you not be my wife?” 

The cool, authoritative tone in which these words were 
spoken aroused all the pride m Madeline’:; nature, and she 
replied just as coolly as Brandon himself had done. 

“ Take my answer then, once for all. I will never, never, 
be your wife ; and you will find it useless to urge me on the 
subject.” 

Again she was moving away, and again Brandon detained 
her. 

“ Is it because you prefer Audley Vernon that you an- 
me thus?” he asked, in a sneering, disagreeable whisper, 
watching with a fierce pang of jealous rage the warm color 
creeping into Madeline’s pale cheeks at the assertion of the 
poet’s name. 

She shrank from her companion with an involuntary 
gesture of abhorrence, which the latter was not slow to 
notice, and the little act aroused all the evil passions in the 
man’s nature. Hitherto he had pleaded with Madeline as 
an honorable man might have pleaded for the hand of the 
woman he loved, but now he resorted to base means, and 
stooped to threaten her. 

“You imagine yourself in love with that long-haired 
sentimentalist; but have a care, Madeline. It is in my 
power to dash to the earth all his bright dreams of future 
greatness. Ask him when you meet again who is his 
benefactor, by whose aid are his poems about to be sent out 
into the world. Ask him who was it that visited his mis- 
erable home night after night, filling his brain with bright 
visions of a glorious future, and his heart with such wild 
hopes, that were he to fail now, he would end his life in 
desj>air. Ask him all these questions, and the answer will 
be ‘Brandon.’ Yes, Madeline, I hold your poet-lover’s 
fate, as it were, in the hollow of my hand. His future 
shall be what I choose to make it. I have gone to his home 
night after night, because you were there ; yet I never, by 
word or sign, betrayed that we had met before, since you 
appeared to be anxious to conceal your identity. All the 


84 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . - 


benefits I have conferred upon Audley Vernon have been for 
your sake. Be my wife, Madeline, and this man who has 
befriended you shall see all his fair dreams realized. ’ ’ 

Brandon paused here, waiting for some word from his 
companion, whose young face had darkened with a look of 
unmistakable scorn. 

“ And if I refuse your modest demand you will ruin the 
man who believes you his friend and benefactor. Is that 
what you wish to insinuate, Mr. Brandon?” 

The brown eyes were full of scorn, and upon every feat- 
ure of the fair young face uplifted to his own, Brandon 
read the contempt with which he had inspired her. 

He perceived that he had injured his own cause, but it 
was too late to change the game, since he had shown his 
hand, and, angry and irritated at the turn affairs were 
taking, he plunged himself still deeper in disgrace. 

“You clothe my ideas in rude language, but I presume 
you are about right. I told you I was not a good man, 
and you have already begun to find out my faults. I want 
you for my own, Madeline Clare. Do you think I will en- 
rich this namby-pamby poet and stand by calmly while 
you share his prosperity? Ha, ha, ha! that would be a 
piece of good- nature indeed, of which I am not capable. 
No, Madeline, I will not give you up to Audley Vernon, 
and you may as well understand this at once. Consent to 

be mine, and all will be well with him; refuse, and but 

I will not threaten, Madeline ; I will give you time to think 
of my offer. One week from to-day I will call on you for 
your answer. Do not try to hide yourself from me ; prom- 
ise to meet me in this street, where we are standing now, 
one week from to-day ! Bemember, it is for Audley Ver- 
non’s sake.” 

“ For Audley Vernon’s sake.” Unconsciously Madeline 
repeated these words. 

She was growing faint and dizzy, and in her desire to 
escape the hated presence of Basil Brandon she would have 
promised anything; besides, was it not for Audley’s sake? 

“I w r ill come,” she said, huskily, and before Brandon 
could speak again she had hurried away as fast as her tot- 
tering steps would carry her, leaving him in the place 
where they had stood, alone. 

“ I have won her! The poor little fool will sacrifice her- 
self for her lover’s sake,” muttered Brandon, as he strode 
away in an opposite direction, while Madeline turned her 
face toward the house in which she had been so kindly 
tended during her illness, as if she would have returned 
there to seek the rest she needed, but remembering her 
last painful parting with Audley, she could not trust her- 
self just yet in his sight; and, after a moment’s pause, dur- 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


85 


Ing which her heart was lifted to Heaven in prayer for 
strength to bear her cross, she hailed a car, from which 
she alighted half an hour later before the entrance of the 
large shirt manufactory of Messrs. Fell & Hemmingway. 


CHAPTER X . 

LJNA CLARK. 

“ Oh, the dear hours of old! 

When my heart was lightest— 

I never knew it cold 
When my skies were brightest. 

u Then my friends were near me, 

Words of flatttery speaking; 

None there be to cheer me, 

Now this heart is breaking. r/ 

For some minutes Madeline stood gazing up at the blank 
walls of the huge building with a strange feeling of dread 
at her heart. 

Was she destined to come to this place day after day, 
and o earn within these walls her daily bread? 

She thought of her father— of Leon , of h a* happy school- 
days, and c + ^e bright xnticip. tions in wh .ch she had in- 
dulged, th hopes now buried in her father’s grave. 

“Pa a is dead, Leone has cast me out of her heart, and 
I am alone, all alone, with the memory of tha- dreadful 
hour passed by my dying father’s side, and the vow he 
exacted from me, rankling like a poisonous viper in my 
heart. I can be no man’s wife— and yet — oh, Audley! 
what would I not do to save you one hour of pain or heart- 
ache, my ” 

Her reverie was interrupted here ; the factory door had 
opened, and she hurried forward to speak to the girl who 
was emerging from the building, and who could probably 
direct her to the place where she would find Nettie Smith, 
the girl who had promised to speak to the forewoman in 
her (Madeline’s) behalf.” 

“Will you be good enough to direct me to the work- 
room? I wish to see Nettie Smith,” said Madeline, timidly, 
and the girl looked curiously and admiringly down into 
the lovely little face of her questioner, before replying : 

“ I can show you the way , miss, but it ain’t no good for 
you to travel up three long pair o’ stairs, ’cause I tell you 
beforehand they don’t allow no visitors in the workroom.” 

“ But I am not a visitor; I— I am a poor girl in search of 
work, and Nettie promised to speak to the forewoman for 
me.” replied Madeline, firmly, whereupon the girl directed 
her to the workroom, and went on her way muttering: 

“ She a poor girl! she a workin’-girl! My sakes! what a 


3G 


LITTLE SUNSHINE 


face she’s got! I never saw another like it in the work- 
room. Won’t there be lively times if madame hires her. 
Lydia Barton will cut up rough about it I’m a-thinkin’. 
Lydia’s called the prettiest girl in the factory now, but she’ll 
be nowhere beside this pink and white, yeller-haired baby. 
My sakes! I think I see Lydia’s black eyes snap, as they’ll 
do when she sees the new hand. There’ll be fun in the 
workroom now, sure as my name is ’Liza Brown.” 
Unconscious of the interest she had awakened in the 
mind of Eliza Brown, Madeline Clare ascended the three 
long flights of stairs leading to the workroom. 

The strange feeling of dread with which she had first 
surveyed the outside walls of this building still pressed 
upon her heart, almost prompting her to turn and retrace 
her steps, but she would not yield to the unaccountable 
feeling, and pressed bravely onward until she stood before 
the door of the workroom. 

The din of a hundred machines in motion almost deaf- 
ened her, and she looked, almost in terror, upon what ap- 
peared to be a confused sea of faces, as every girl lifted her 
her eyes from the work upon which she had been engaged 
at Madeline’s entrance. 

A tall, black-eyed and black-haired girl, rather showy - 
looking, and possessed of a certain bold style of beauty, 
was folding a pile of shirts at a long table nearest the door 
when Madeline appeared on the threshold. 

“ Do you wish to see madame? Here, one of you girls, 
take this young lady to the office,” cries the black-browed 
girl, looking round at her companions with an air that pro- 
claimed her their leader. 

One of the girls arose with alacrity to do her bidding: but 
at this moment, befo e Madeline could meak, Nettie Smith 
came forward and clasped her (Madeline’s) hand, saying to 
the black-eyed girl above alluded to : 

“ Til take her to the office, Lydia; she’s the new girl ma- 
dame promised to take on. Come ; and before Lyaia Bar- 
ton had recovered from the astonishment into which this 
unexpected announcement threw her, Nettie had drawn 
Madeline out of the workroom on her way to the office of 
madame, the forewoman. 

Before reaching the madame’s sanctum Nettie turned 
suddenly to her companion with the remark : 

“Do you know, miss, you have never told me your name? 
I asked Mr. Vernon once, but he said it was Little Sun- 
beam, or Sunshine, an’, of course, that wouldn’t be just 
the thing to call you here, you know, so what shall I call 
you? I want to know before I go in to madame.” 

v ‘ Call me Lina— Lina Clark, ’ ’ replied Madeline, without 
a moment’s hesitation, for she had been prepared for this 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


87 


question, and resolved to alter her name that it might not 
be so easy for Dr. Towniey to trace her, should that gen- 
tleman b<3 making any effort to recover the person of his 
runaway ward. 

“Lina Clark,” repeated Nettie, softly, and in another 
moment the two girls found themselves in the presence 
of madame, to whom Nettie introduced her friend, Lina 
Clark. 

Nettie would fain have lingered to hear what madame 
would say to Lina, but the sharp voice of the former or- 
dered her back to the workroom, and she was obliged to 
pocket her curiosity and obey. 

Left alone with the madame, Madeline ventured to lift 
her eyes to that lady’s face. It was, without exception, 
the most disagreeable countenance upon which they had 
ever fallen. A hard, cold, pitiless face, with pallid, thread- 
like lips, that looked as if no smile ever crossed them, and 
blue-gray eyes, wearing in their depths a peculiar steely 
glitter. A physiognomist would have pronounced it an es- 
sentially cruel face— -a countenance that mirrored truly the 
innate cruelty of the woman’s nature. 

Madeline Clare was no skilled physiognomist, but she 
could imagine this woman torturing a dumb animal and 
laughing at its agony. 

When madame spoke her voice tallied well with the ex- 
pression of her countenance. It was harsh and stern, with 
a sort of metallic ring in its tones that jarred on a sensitive 
ear. 

“Well, Lina Clark, Nettie Smith tells me you want to 
learn the shirt-making. Why have you run away from 
home?” 

This startling question chased every vestige of color from 
Madeline’s face, and she glanced involuntarily toward the 
office door, as if meditating flight. 

“Madame,” she ejaculated, unable to speak another 
word, while madame broke into a laugh, if indeed such 
a harsh, mirthless cachinnation was deserving of the name. 

“ Don’t look so frightened, my dear, I don’t want to know 
your business, but I only wanted to show you that I am 
not to be deceived. You’re a runaway. You was never 
cut out for a working-girl. You may be Lina Clark, or you 
may have some more aristocratic cognomen, but that’s 
neither here nor there. You chose to be called Lina Clark 
now, and it is your wish to learn the shirt-making. Very 
well, Lina Clark, you shall be set to work at once. I sup- 
pose you know that there is no pay with learning?” 

Madeline bowed her head, but gave no other answer, and 
with another of those mirthless laughs madame made her 
way to the workroom, followed by the new shirt-hand. 


38 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


As they approached the door of the workroom Madeline 
could distinguish the hum of a hundred voices mingling 
with the noise of the machinery and the rattling of steam- 
belts, but simultaneously with the appearance of madame 
on the threshold the voices ceased, and every head was bent 
diligently over the work in hand. 

Lydia Barton was still engaged in folding shirts at the 
table near the door, and as Madeline followed the fore- 
woman into the room, Lydia’s black eyes darted a glance 
at the new hand by no means expressive of good will. 

Madame’ s sharp eyes noted the glance, and understood 
the meaning. 

“Lydia, I wish you to take charge of this new hand, and 
teach her the art of shirt-making. I know you will take 
an interest in her,” she said, delighting in the sight of the 
disappointment plainly written on the faces of Madeline 
and Nettie Smith, both of whom had hoped that they might 
sit together. 

Lydia Barton assured madame that she would do her 
best for the learner, after which Madeline was shown to 
a seat near Lydia’s table, and was soon listening to Lydia’s 
somewhat coarse voice directing her how to begin her new 
work. 

Poor Little Sunshine ! it was a trying time for her. She 
could feel the cool, scrutinizing gaze of a hundred pairs of 
eyes, while no voice spoke a word of encouragement, and 
the girl who was to instruct her in her new duties seemed 
to have already taken a dislike to her. 

Madel'ne felt herself amidst that crowd of girls, a being 
entirely isolated and alone. 

“Oh, papa, papa! you are not happy in Heaven if you 
can see your Litt±e Sunshine now, ’ ’ she thought, and the 
memory of h°r lost father, who had loved every golden hair 
of his darling’s heau, brought a hot rush of tears to the 
weary brown eyes, and made the delicate hand tremble so 
thau the muslin over which she bent fell from them to the 
floor, elicit'^g a cry of “ how careless ” from Lydia Barton. 
Madeline made hut little progress during the remainder of 
the day, and many of the girls began to look with pity on 
the weary young face, and the bright head bent so dili- 
gently over the work that was so new and strange to the 
girl whose life had hitherto been passed amid the most 
luxurious surroundings. 

“Come, Lina, we may go home now — why, deal, how 
tired you look,” said Nettie Smith, approaching Madeline 
when the shrill steam whistles at last proclaimed the hour 
of their release. 

Madeline looked up in surprise, wondering at Nettie’s fa- 
miliar manner of addx^essing her, but she soon x , emembex , ed 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


89 


that she was no longer Madeline Clare, the daughter and 
heiress of the wealthy Lester Clare, but Line Clark, Nettie 
Smith’s companion, and, like Nettie, only a working-girl. 

Lydia Barton had been watching Lina sharply, and saw 
and partly understood that momentary look of annoyance. 

“What airs she puts on! I guess she thinks herself bet- 
ter than the rest of us; she’ll soon find out her mistake 
though; we don’t wan’t any fine ladies among us, do we, 
girls?” 

These words were spoken by Lydia Barton as Madeline 
and Nettie passed out of the room. 

Lydia’s companions echoed their leader's sentiments. 

They wanted no fine ladies among them, and amid that 
crowd of nearly a hundred girls there was only one who 
spoke a word in favor of their new shopmate. 

This one was Eliza Brown, the girl to whom Madeline 
had spoken at the door of the factory. 

Eliza had been sent upon an errand by madame, and on 
her return found Madeline already at work. 

“Poor little thing; she’11 have a hard time of it here; 
she’s too pretty to make many friends among a set of 
jealous and envious working girls, ” was Eliza’s mental 
comment, and Lydia’s words proved that she had not been 
far wrong. 

Now, Eliza did not share her companions’ awe of the 
stately Lydia, and in answer to the latter's ill-natured re- 
mark concerning Madeline, she said, angrily : 

“ For shame, Liddy Barton! you just want to set all the 
girls again the new hand because she’s prettier than you. 
Ain't she pretty though? her face is like something you’d 
read about in the poetry; and her hands, my sakes! they’re 
just lovely. Little, soft, white things, dimpled like a 
baby’s. I tell you, girls, this Lina Clark is a lady, an’ if 
she works in this factory till she’s gray she won’t be noth- 
ing else. ’ ’ 

Eliza, having, as she expressed it, said her say, walked 
out of the workroom, with a look on her face that declared 
her Madeline’s champion, and in the sad days that followed 
she proved herself Madeline’s friend indeed. 


40 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


CHAPTER XI. 

ONE WEEK FROM TO-DAY. 

u ’Tis sweet to live in God’s free air, 

Undazzled by the city’s glare, 

’Midst meadows, streams, and mountains; 

To wander through the forest glade, 

Or tired at length, to seek the shade, 

By one of Nature’s fountains,” 

For some time after leaving the f actor y, Madeline 
walked along by the side of Nettie Smith in silence, and 
Nettie refrained from breaking in upon her reverie. 

Nettie was a pale, delicate-looking girl of eighteen, with 
no pretensions to beauty save a pair of soft blue eyes. 

There was a look of deep sadness on the pale young face 
on the night of which we write, and the blue eyes looked 
as if tears were no strangers to them. Madeline was the 
first to break the silence. 

“Nettie Smith,” she suddenly exclaimed, turning toward 
her companion so abruptly that the latter was half fright- 
ened — “ Nettie Smith, will you let me share your home? I 
have a little money, enough, I think, to pay my board 
until I have learned shirt-making and I can no longer in- 
trude on the kind friends who sheltered me during my ill- 
ness. Let me live with you, Nettie; we are both orphans, 
and working-girls; may we not be friends?” 

Nettie did not answer for a moment, and then turned on 
Madeline such a bright, hopeful face, that the latter could 
only gaze on her in astonishment. 

“ Let you live with me! Oh, Miss Clark— Lina — you do 
not know what a weight your words have lifted off my 
heart. I was grieving and worrying just when you spoke, 
because I thought I should have to give up my cozy little 
room, being unable to pay the rent of it, and now to have 
you with me, helping me, and brightening my poor little 
home with your pretty face; it will be just like sunshine 
after dark, dull days. I used to be happy in my poor little 
home, with no companions save my birds and flowers, but 
since this cough has troubled me 1 have not been able to 
earn much money, and the thought of losing this poor 
shelter, and perhaps ending my days in a hospital was a 
very bitter and sorrowful one, you may be sure.” 

Tears of sympathy started to the brown eyes of Nettie’s 
companion, and Nettie felt her hand clasped warmly, but 
no further arrangements were made until they reached the 
house in which Nettie lived, on the floor above that occu- 
pied by Audley Vernon. 

The poet met the girls in his own hallway, and Nettie 
greeted him in a manner that surprised him, * 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


41 


“ Oh, Mr. Vernon, I am going to rob you of your ‘ Sun- 
shine. ’ Lina, here, has got work in my shop — the factory 
where I work, I mean — aiid she is coming to live with 
me. Come, Lina, I am just a capital cook; come up stairs 
and you shall see what a nice supper I can get up in half 
an hour. ’ ’ 

The impulsive girl would have hurried Madeline up to 
her rooms before another word could be spoken, but Ver- 
non quietly approached his late guest and said, earnestly: 

‘ k I do not quite understand this ; will you come inside 
and explain it to me : 

Madeline bowed her consent to this, and saying to 
Nettie, “ I will be with you in half an hour,” accompanied 
the poet into his own apartments, and stood before him, 
with the warm color coming and going on her face, and 
her brown eyes cast down, as if to avoid his loving, sor- 
rowful gaze. 

“ What is this I hear, child; you cannot mean to work in 
that dreadful factory, and live with the poor little girl up- 
stairs? You were not born for such a life. Oh, my dear, 
you have refused to be my wife, but you will always be the 
dearest thing on earth to me ; it would kill me to think of 
you toiling your young life out in poverty, while I shall be 
enjoying what will appear like wealth to me, who have 
known the sting of poverty. Will you make me happy by 
accepting a home— not with me! do not look so startled— a 
home with my dear old mother. I am going to hire a little 
place for her, out of the city, where she may be surrounded 
by the trees and flowers, and all the beauties of nature so 
dear to her heart. She will be very lonely, since I must 
remain in the city. Will you not share her solitude, Little 
Sunshine? She loves you very dearly — you will make her 
very happy if you go to her as a daughter, as my sister, 
little one. ’ ’ 

The deep, rich voice of the poet was tremulous with the 
feeling he strove so hard to repress, and Madeline, stealing 
a glance at him, saw the shadow' of a great pain resting on 
the dark, Murello-like beauty of his face. Her own heart 
was beating with quick, muffled throbs, and the impulse 
was strong upon her to throw herself into the arms that 
would have opened so gladly to receive her, and pillow her 
weary little head on the breast that would have been so 
safe a refuge and resting-place. 

At this moment Mrs. Vernon entered the room, and 
clasped the orphan to her breast in a motherly embrace. 
The old lady’s face was radiant with -happiness, and as she 
smoothed the soft rings of golden hair back from Made- 
line’s forehead, she cried, gayly: 

“What is this nonsense Nettie, has been telling me? 


42 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


Work in the factory and live with her, indeed. Do you 
think we would allow such a thing? Tell her about the 
cottage in the country, my son, and how I have set my 
mind on having her with me. My dear little daughter, 
how happy we shall be! Oh! Audley, my son, do you 
know I sometimes fear I shall wake and find that all this 
happiness is a dream. Wake to find that there is no Mr. 
Brandon — no brilliant prospects for you, my poet son. 
Audley, the awakening would kill me.” 

The old lady’s arms had fallen from about the form of 
Madeline, and she had approached her son, and dropped 
her white head on his shoulder. 

At the mention of Brandon’s name Madeline shuddered, 
remembering the threat Brandon had uttered a few hours 
before. 

“Does this man, Brandon — does your future success or 
failure depend on him?” she stammered, scarcely know- 
ing how to frame the question she desired to have an- 
swered. Vernon looked somewhat surprised at the ques- 
tion, but he replied : 

‘ ‘ Mr. Brandon is the publisher who has taken in hand a 
volume of my poems. He certainly might, even now, re- 
fuse to publish them, if he were so disposed ; but there is 
no probability of his doing so. My dear mother is fanci- 
ful. We must try and convince her that she is quite wide 
awake, and not dreaming. ’ ’ 

“Would you be very much disappointed if the volume 
was not published?” was Madeline’s next question, and 
mother and son looked at her in perfect amazement. 

“Much disappointed!” echoed Vernon. “Why, child, 
do you know what disappointment in this case implies? It 
is another name for ruin, despair, and death. This old 
mother, who has borne poverty, ay, hunger, while her boy 
was struggling to make for himself a name, would not sur- 
vive the shock of such a cruel disappointment. I, myself 
— well, I have borne much, and am still strong to endure ; 
but — ah, child, child, you would not understand were I to 
tell you how / would be affected by this disappointment.” 

The words were few and simple, but the tone in which 
they were spoken drove the color from Madeline’s face. 
For one moment that face was hidden in her clasped hands, 
and when she looked up the expression written upon it was 
such as one sees on the faces of martyrs in pictures painted 
by some of the old-time masters. 

“You shall not be disappointed,” she said, softly, and 
at the words Audley and Mrs. Vernon both gazed at her 
in amazement. What could she possibly mean? Suddenly 
Audley started forward, and regardless of his mother’s 
presence, clasped both her hands in his own, 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


43 


You mean that you will not disappoint me, dear child ; you 
will give up this foolish notion of turning factory-girl, and 
go with mother to the cozy nest I shall provide for you 
both; shall it be so, Little Sunshine?” 

At this moment Nettie’s voice was heard calling “ Lina! 
Lina ! come to supper, the half hour is up — was up ten 
minutes ago.” 

Madeline made a movement as if she would have hastened 
to obey the call, but Audley still held her hands, waiting 
for her answer. 

. “ Let me go, I — I cannot answer just yet — wait one week 
—just one week from to-day!” she said, hurriedly, and 
then, only waiting to kiss the face of Mrs. Vernon, she 
went up-stairs to Nettie and the “nice supper” which 
the latter had provided for her new friend and room- 
mate. 

Nettie was somewhat disappointed when she found that 
Lina was unable to eat, but she kept up a continual chatter 
while they lingered at the little table, while all the time one 
dreadful thought was pressing upon the heart and brain of 
Little Sunshine, the thought of that promised meeting with 
Basil Brandon one week from to-day. 


CHAPTER Nil. 

SAM. 

“ Is it gone? My pulses beat — 

What was it? A lying trick of the brain? 

Yet I thought I saw her stand, 

A shadow there at my feet, 

High oyer the shadowy land.” Tennyson. 

On the evening of the day that had witnessed Madeline 
Clare’s first experience as a working-girl, Madeline’s step- 
mother, with her daughter, Laura Vereton, were seated 
in the magnificent parlor from out which the master of 
the stately home had so lately passed for the last time. 

The widow was attired in deepest mourning, with her 
blonde hair banded smoothly back under a dainty widow’s 
cap, and her handsome face wearing a most becoming ex- 
pression of sorrow. 

Laura, entering the parlor suddenly, found her mother in 
an attitude of deepest dejection, and stood for a moment 
regarding her with an expression of mingled amusement 
and scorn. 

“ Still grieving for the dear departed. I declare, mamma, 
you are a model widow— bah ! I hate hypocrisy above all 
other sins. You never loved Lester Clare wdiilst living, 
you clo not mourn him dead. It is all very well to assume 
that mask of sorrow in company , but you may throw it 


44 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


aside when we are alone. The house is as gloomy as a 
tomb. I hate it. Sometimes I think it is haunted ” 

Laura’s grumbling came to a sudden stop here, for the 
widow had sprung to her feet, trembling in every limb, 
and confronted her daughter with a face from which every 
vestige of color had fled. 

‘ 4 Haunted ! do you mean that you, too, have — have seen 
it?” she cried, in a thrilling whisper, clutching Laura’s 
white arm so tightly that the latter gave vent to an invol- 
untary cry of pain. 

“Seen what , mamma! What have you seen?” asked 
Laura, in a low, awed tone, half frightened and wholly 
puzzled to account for her mother’s strange behavior. 

Even while Laura was speaking Mrs. Clare had succeeded 
in mastering her excessive agitation, and sank into the near- 
est chair, pressing her hands over her heart, and breathing 
heavily, but calling to her white lips the very ghost of a 
smile. 

4 4 How silly you must think me, my love,” she said, in a 
voice that was feeble and tremulous, despite her effort to 
speak lightly. “You frightened me with your talk of the 
house being haunted. I have had such dreadful dreams of 
late, dreams in which Lester appears to me, not as he ap- 
peared in life, but cold and rigid and ghastly, his sightless 
eyes fixed always upon me with that awful, accusing — what 
am I saying? — I am ill and nervous. Laura, leave me alone, 
my dariing, or — or I will retire to my chamber until I have 
overcome this feeling of weakness.” 

Mrs. Clare had again become wildly excited while speak- 
ing of the dreams that had haunted her, but noticing 
Laura’s looks of amazement she recovered herself by a 
supreme effort of the will, and would have left the parlor 
had not Laura detained her. 

The gill was perfectly cool and self-possessed, and the 
widow shrank and shivered beneath the sharp and steady 
gaze of her blue eyes. 

“Mamma! you are keeping something from me, some 
secret that you do not wish me to share. I cannot guess 
the nature of this secret, but I have suspected its existence 
since the day of your husband’s death. You cannot deceive 
me, mamma ; hitherto I have shared all your secrets, but 
now you have chosen another confidant, to the exclusion of 
your daughter. ’ ’ 

These words were spoken significantly, and with a de- 
cided emphasis on the last sentence. 

Mrs. Clare’s face grew paler than it had been before — if 
that were possible — and Laura, with all her boldness, was 
almost frightened by the look in her mother’s eyes. 

“What do you mean? of whom are you speaking?” asked 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 45 

the latter, breathlessly, to which Laura replied with her 
light, scornful laugh : 

44 1 was speaking of Dr. Toivnley. You cannot deny that 
he is in your confidence, mother mine ; I have come upon 
you on more than one occasion conversing in low, guarded 
tones, which ceased when I appeared upon the scene. He 
is your stepdaughter’s guardian, I know; he was your* dead 
husband’s friend; but why does he remain inactive while 
the girl is missing? why does he make no attempt to find 
her, and why, mamma — you could answer this question if 
you ivould — why did she leave the house at all, when it was 
her father’s wish that she remain in the care of his friend, 
Dr. Townley?” 

Laura’s eyes never left her mother’s face while she asked 
these pertinent questions, but by this time the widow ap- 
peared to have banished all traces of the agitation from 
which she had suffered a moment before, and was able to 
meet her daughter’s scrutinizing gaze with one of anger 
and defiance. 

44 Laura,” she began, in a voice more stern and cold than 
any in which she had ever before addressed her beloved 
and petted daughter: “Laura! you are impertinent; and 
I do not acknowledge your right to question my actions or 
motives. As to Madeline’s reason for leaving my protec- 
tion, do you not think it probable that Basil Brandon, who 
has neglected you so shamefully of late, has had something 
to do with it?” 

Laura’s face turned actually livid, and her blue eyes 
glittered, while her long, white fingers twisted themselves 
together, with a gesture peculiarly suggestive of rage and 
chagrin. 

Mrs. Clare repented her hasty words almost as soon as 
they were spoken, and would have taken Laura in her 
arms, but the latter repulsed her rudely, and had just 
opened her lips to speak, when a servant appeared to an- 
nounce : 

“ Mr. Basil Brandon.” 

“ Go away! I wish to see him alone,” whispered Laura, 
and Mrs. Clare, accustomed to obey her proud, imperious 
daughter, passed through the folding-doors into the back 
parlor, and thence to her own apartments, where she paced 
the floor of her chamber restlessly, pale, agitated and ill at 
ease. 

“ How foolish I was to betray my fears when she uttered 
the word 4 haunted !’ Already she looks on me with dis- 
trust and suspicion. Oh, Laura ! my child ! my dear one ! 
I could not endure ” 

“ Dr. Townley waits in the ’ception-room for to see Mrs. 


4(3 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


Clare,” said a voice from the doorway, breaking in upon 
the widow’s soliloquy. 

“ Say to Dr. Towmey that I will join him immediately,” 
she replied, in the cold, imperious tone in which she "al- 
ways addressed her servants. 

“Dat you’ll jinehim ’mejetly; yes, missus, Sam’ll ’mem- 
ber,” muttered the servant as he shuffled off in the direc- 
tion of the reception-room to deliver his mistress’ mes- 
sage. 

Mrs. Clare looked after him somewhat uneasily. 

“ I do not like that negro’s manner. I cannot under- 
stand him. He obeys my every word and gesture, giving 
me no cause to find fault with him, and yet I catch his 
eyes fastened upon me at times with a look that disturbs 
and irritates me. I would discharge him from my service at 
once, but that I fear the remarks which might be indulged 
in by our neighbors, who know how entirely devoted Sam 
was to Lester, who rescued him from the hands of a brutal 
master in the days of slavery. For fifteen years this negro 
has been Lester’s body-servant, and all those who attended 
Lester’s funeral will long remember Sam’s frantic exhibi- 
tion of grief when the coffin-lid shut out from his sight his 
master’s dead face. No, no! it will not do for me to dis- 
charge him just yet; besides, there is no earthly reason 
why I should distrust him. He has always been most 
obedient, and respectful in his demeanor toward me, and 
he really does the work of two servants. ’ ’ 

All unconscious of the thoughts of his proud mistress, 
Sam delivered that lady’s message verbatim to the gentle- 
man waiting her appearance in the reception-room, and 
then betook himself to the kitchen regions, whence he 
emerged half an hour later, to steal up the stairs with cau- 
tious tread, holding his breath as he passed the closed door 
of the reception-room, from whence came the sound of low 
voices. 

This room communicated with a smaller apartment, 
known now, as during Lester Clare’s lifetime, as the 
“ master’s study.” 

Since the master’s death the servants had with one ac- 
cord avoided the study, Sam having been the first to cir- 
culate the report that ” massa’s ghost done come back to 
de study. ’Fore de Lord, chillun (children) I done see 
Marse Clare sittin’ by that ’ere writin’ desk in de study, 
large as life!” declared Sam with the most solemn air im- 
aginable, and his fellow-servants believed him and could 
not be induced to enter the study after nightfall. 

Sam pretended to share their fears. Indeed he continued 
to repeat his asseverations of having seen his dead master 
so frequently, that the ccok was on the point of throwing 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


47 


up her situation, being actually afraid to pass the door of 
the study, on her way to her sleeping-room. 

On the evening of which we write, however, Sam seemed 
to have forgotten his terror of master’s ghost, for he de- 
liberately entered the study. 

The room was in total darkness, but as Sam stepped cau- 
tiously across the threshold, a stream of light, entering 
from the hallway, fell full upon the pictured face of his 
dead master. 

It was an elegant costly oil painting, representing a 
noble-looking man reclining on a grassy slope, gazing with 
eyes of fond affection upon the face of a beautiful golden- 
haired child at play among the flowers near him. 

The negro’s breast heaved convulsively as he gazed for a 
moment upon the picture, and his hands, close-clasped, 
were extended toward it, while his lips formed the words, 
‘ ‘ Massa, ’ ’ and 4 4 Little Sunshine. ’ ’ 

44 De massa am gone to de beautiful New Jerusalem, but 
he can’t be happy eben dar, while his Little Sunshine am 
out in de world alone,” muttered Sam, unconsciously re- 
peating the substance of words spoken by Little Sunshine 
herself, a few hours before — ‘‘Oh, papa, papa! you are not 
happy, even in Heaven, if you can see your Little Sunshine 
now. ’ ’ 

Very soon Sam closed the door of the study, shutting out 
the light that had revealed the pictured faces, but no fear 
of ghosts seemed to trouble him in the darkness, as he 
groped his way cautiously across the room toward the door 
of communication, between it and the reception-room, 
where his master’s widow was closeted with Dr. Townley, 
whom Sam had always distrusted, despite the fact that Mr. 
Clare had called him 4 ‘ friend. ’ ’ 

“ For de little missy’s sake,” the negro whispered, as if 
seeking to find an excuse for his crime of eavesdropping, 
ere he crouched low on the floor, and with his ear to the key- 
hole, prepared to listen to the words that came to him dis- 
tinctly from the reception-room. 

Several times there was a sound of footsteps passing the 
study- door, but Sam did not heed them, crouching in the 
same position alone in the darkness, until Dr. Townley had 
bidden Louise Clare good-night, and left the house. 


48 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“you are free.” 

“ Farewell! I would not wed thee now 
To gain inconstant treasures; 

I leave thee with thy broken vow, 

The bright world and its pleasures.” 

Francis iS. Smith. 

At the moment when the servant announced ‘ ‘ Basil 
Brandon,” Laura Vereton’s heart had been full of angry, 
revengeful passions ; but Laura was an adept in the art of 
dissimulation, and she advanced to meet her lover with a 
charming smile and hands extended to meet his own. 

She was conscious of looking well, the dead black of her 
dress contrasting well with the fairness of her complexion 
and the pale blonde of her hair. 

“How late you are, Basil? I thought you had forgotten 
me to-night,” she said, nestling close to him in the pretty, 
coquettish manner he had once admired. 

‘ 4 Nonsense, Laura! what a child you are! Have you 

ever known me to ” break a promise, he was about to 

add, but something impelled him to leave the words un- 
said, and his face expressed annoyance and impatience as 
he loosened his hold on Laura’s hands, and threw himself 
on the nearest couch. 

Laura answered as if he had completed his sentence : • 

“Forgive me, dear Basil; I never have known you to 
break a promise. Ho not look so indignant ; I am perfectly 
well satisfied that your delay this evening was unavoid- 
able. ’ ’ 

She had taken her usual seat on the sofa beside him 
while speaking, but Basil did not, as usual, pass his arm 
around her, and draw her blonde head down on his 
shoulder. 

His manner was cold and constrained, and Laura’s blue 
eyes glittered angrily, as she noticed his absorption, and 
thought of the words spoken by her mother a few mo- 
ment’s before. 

‘ ‘ Is he thinking of Madeline? I will put him to the test, ’ ’ 
she thought, and suddenly breaking in upon Basil’s medi- 
tations, she exclaimed: 

“Why so silent, my Basil, are you thinking of my lost 
sister, Madeline?” 

Basil started as if he had been shot. 

His dark face flushed and his eyes turned on Laura with 
a half frightened, confused gaze. 

She was answered. For a moment the room seemed reel- 
ing around her. 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


49 


Her lips grew white, and were drawn together in a close 
line, she dropped the white lids over her eyes to hide their 
baleful light. 

Basil recovered his composure almost immediately, and 
as if indifferent to her feelings on the subject, replied : 

4 4 1 ivas thinking of the little one. It appears very 
strange to me that neither her father’s widow nor the man 
whom that father appointed his daughter's guardian, has 
made any effort to find her. Laura, there is some mystery 
connected with that girl’s flight, a mystery that must be 
cleared up before I link my name with yours. Yes, I am 
rude, I know, but this thing has preyed upon my mind 
night and day since Madeline Clare left her home so mys- 
teriously ; and I came here to-night for the express purpose 

of speaking with your mother on the subject ” 

Laura interrupted him before he could proceed further. 
She had risen from her place beside him, and stood before 
him, deathly pale and quivering with passion. 

Her very voice seemed to have undergone a change, 
sounding hoarse and harsh as she cried, passionately : 

4 4 1 understand your motive in thus insulting me, Basil 
Brandon. You want your freedom, but you had not cour- 
age to ask it as a gentleman would have done, and so you 
seek a coward’s refuge and compel me to offer you the re- 
lease you crave. You are free, Basil Brandon, free to link 
your name with that of my mother’s stepdaughter; but so 
surely as there is a sky above the earth, you will repent this 

hour, and as for Madeline Clare, she shall ’ ’ 

4 4 Spare your threats, Laura ; there is a homely old 
maxim to the effect that 4 hard words break no bones, ’ and 
I do not fear that yours will harm me. You have volun- 
tarily released me, and I accept my freedom. You bear 
me no love, Laura Vereton, and you have probably seen 
ere this that we were unsuited to each other. Let us be 
friends, Laura ” 

Once again Laura interrupted him, and this time Basil 
Brandon shrank abashed before the fierce glance of her 
glittering eyes. 

44 How dare you stand there adding insult to injury, and 
mocking me with your offer of friendship f You are right 
when you say I do not love you. I never loved you, Basil 
Brandon, and now I hate you with a passion relentless as 
death, and you shall learn ivhat it is to incur a proud 
woman’s hatred, much as you may sneer at, and despise 
my threats. I never loved you, and yet I do not suffer less 
through your treachery. Our engagement was a well- 
known fact in the society in which we both move. How 
think you will I bear the curious looks, and listen to the 
whispered comments that will be passed when it is known 


50 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


that the engagement is broken? It will be said that you 
have given me up —jilted me, that is the word— and I shall 
be an object of pity. Dear Heaven, how shall I live through 
it!” 

Until now Laura had borne up bravely, upheld by the 
very violence' of her passion; but as she uttered the last 
words she flung herself face downward on the nearest couch, 
sobbing wildly. 

Bad, selfish, and thoroughly unprincipled as lie was, Basil 
Brandon could not look upon the scene unmoved. He had 
believed himself in love with her before Madeline appeared 
on the scene, and he would have been glad to retain her 
friendship now. 

“Laura,” he said, gently, venturing to approach and rest 
his hand on her bowed head — “Laura, I would not pain 
you thus for all the world. Look up, dear, and let me tell 
you ’ ’ 

She flung his hand away as if it had been a serpent, and 
once more stood erect before him, more beautiful than he 
had ever seen her in her just wrath. 

‘ ‘ Do not dare to touch me, Basil Brandon ! I scorn your 
pity, and I would not be your wife now if you had the 
wealth of the world to lay at my feet. Go ! I never want 
to see your face again. You shall see how a woman can 
avenge a wrong.” 

She looked like an avenging Nemesis as she spoke these 
words, standing with head thrown proudly back, her fair 
hair, loosened from its fastenings, falling to her waist, her 
black robes trailing the floor, and one arm outstretched, 
with the index finger pointing toward the door, through 
which she bade him take his departure. 

Once again Brandon endeavored to reason with her, but 
she only reiterated her command — “Go! go!” and there 
was nothing for him but to obey her. 

He left her presence at last, free, it is true, but somehow 
his freedom scarcely gave him the pleasure he had an- 
ticipated, and he kept repeating in his own mind Laura’s 
words: 

“ You shall see how a woman can avenge a wrong.” 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


ST'S 
U 1 


CHAPTER XIV. 

IN THE MOONLIGHT. 

“ moonbeams ghastly 

Seemed to blink in strange affright, 

As the scudding clouds before them 
Shadowed faces dead and white; 

And the night wind softly shivered 
When low moans its light wing bore — 

Moans that ferried spirits over 

Death’s dark wave to yonder shore.” 

After the departure of Basil Brandon, Laura Vereton 
lay for hours on the couch upon which she had thrown her- 
self directly the door closed upon him, and only the all- 
seeing eye* witnessed her agony. She had loved Basil 
Brandon, despite her assertions to the contrary — loved him 
as much as her selfish and worldly nature was capable of 
loving, and now that she realized that he was lost to her 
forever the world seemed to have grown suddenly dark 
and hateful to her, but she quickly banished all tender 
memories, and allowed herself to brood on thoughts of re- 
venge, 

Madeline had stolen him from her. 

A firm conviction now seized Laura’s mind that Made- 
line had left her home at the promptings of Basil. 

It will be remembered that Laura had seen Madeline ap- 
parently passive in Basil Brandon’s embrace, and it never 
occurred to her that Madeline disliked Brandon. She had 
often seen Madeline shiver and turn her eyes away when 
Brandon glanced toward her, but of course this was only 
affectation — a mask assumed for the purpose of deceiving 
her (Laura). It could not be possible that any girl in her 
senses would be indifferent to the handsome, brilliant Basil 
Brandon. This was poor Laura’s opinion of the matter, 
and the innocent Madeline from that hour had a most bit- 
ter enemy in her stepmother’s daughter — an enemy who 
was destined to cause her many a cruel heart -pang. 

It was ten o’clock, and Laura still lay brooding over her 
trouble, when Dr. Townley bade her mother good-night, 
and took his departure. 

Mrs. Clare came down directly into the parlor, expecting 
to find Basil and Laura still chatting in their usual lover- 
like fashion, and, although her face was paler than usual, 
she entered the room smilingly. 

“ Why, Laura, my love, has Basil gone? I did not hear 

him ” she began, but stopped abruptly, for Laura had 

risen to her feet, and at the sight of her daughter’s face 
Mrs. Clare recoiled with a cry of alarm. 

Before she could question Laura as to the cause of her 


52 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


agitation, the latter burst forth into a torrent of angry, 
reproachful words, beneath which the indulgent mother 
trembled like a chidden child. 

You knew of this, you knew he was about to desert me 
for that deceitful little wretch! and yet you allowed me to 
go on blindly, until to rid himself of me he has dared to in- 
sult me, and to tell me to my face that he would not link 
his name with mine until the mystery of Madeline Clare’s 
disappearance was satisfactorily explained. I have given 
him the freedom he craved, but I shall clear up the mys- 
tery nevertheless, for my own satisfaction. ’ ’ 

With these words she swept out of the room, avoiding 
her mother’s outstretched arms. Mrs. Clare looked after 
her with an expression of countenance it would have been 
difficult to define. 

“ My punishment has begun, and the first blow is dealt 
by the hand of my own child, ’ ’ she muttered, pressing her 
hands wearily across her forehead, as if to ease the dull, 
throbbing pain of her temples. For a long time she stood 
in the same position, rousing herself like one awakening 
from a dream, at least, to make her way to her bed- 
chamber. In the second hallway she encountered Sam, 
and the sight of the negro appeared to affect her unpleas- 
antly. 

“ Why are you wandering about the house at this hour? 
Why are you "not in bed, like the rest of the servants?” she 
asked, sharply ; to which the negro answered respectfully, 
bowing almost to her feet : 

“If you please, missus, Sam done stay up to lock de 
doah. I wasn’t shuah dat Massa Townley done gone yet, 
an’ so I waited till I seen you cornin’ out o’ de parlor. 
Hopes I hasn’t done nuffin wrong, missus.” 

And again Sam made a low salaam, and stood aside for 
his mistress to pass. 

The lady swept past him without a word, while the negro 
proceeded to fasten the hall-door securely, his face wearing 
its usual stolid, stupid look, until the sound of a key, turn- 
ing in the lock of Mrs. Clare’s bedroom door, told him that 
his mistress was no longer watching him. 

Then the entire expression of the black face changed. 
The large eyes, hitherto dull and stupid, took on a look of 
keen intelligence. The thick lips parted, displaying the 
white glittering teeth in a smile of triumph. 

“You hates me now. proud missus; you hates me worser 
dan pisen, but if you know’d dat I been a-listenin’ at de 
Oder side of de ’ception room doah to-night— hi golly— 
you d fear me den, ’cause I’s not a slabe now, an’ my 
testimony’s good as any' oder man’s. Ah, massa, dear 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 53 

massa, de ole brack man dat you saved fifteen years ago 
may yet be able to pay de debt.” 

The homely black face was bright with the light of hope 
as the negro uttered these last words, and he stole through 
the hall in the darkness— having extinguished the gas — to 
the door of “master’s study,” which he entered, and stood 
for a moment before Lester Clare's and Little Sunshine’s 
picture, cautiously lighting a match that he might gaze 
upon them with looks of adoration. 

“ For de last time, maybe — de last time till ” 

Sam paused, and dropping his face in his hands, appeared 
to be deeply moved. 

The match fell unheeded to the floor and burned itself 
out. 

Presently the negro seemed to recover himself, and 
stretching his hands toward the picture in the darkness, he 
almost sobbed, 

“Good-bye, massa, good-bye! Maybe we’ll meet again, 
if, as you and de bressed Little Sunshine used to tell 
me, de poor ole brack man may go to de white man’s 
heaven.” 

He bent his head for a moment, and clasped his hands 
as if in prayer, and then shuffled off to his chamber in the 
attic, closing the study door softly behind him, as if he 
were leaving the presence of the dead. 

In the meanwhile, Mrs. Clare, in the solitude of her 
richly furnished bed-chamber, was lying, dressed as she 
was, on her bed, pondering over the words that had fallen 
from Laura’s lips, and grieving for the sorrows of her 
idolized child. 

After a time, exhausted with the varied emotions 
through which she had passed during the evening, the 
widow fell asleep. 

She could not tell how long she had slept, when she was 
awakened by a draught of cold air sweeping across her 
face. 

She raised herself on her elbow and looked around her to 
see where this draught came from. 

She usually — and was certain of having done so to-night 
—left her gas burning, turned low. 

It was not burning now, she saw at a glance, but the room 
was flooded with moonlight, and a gentle breeze was stirring 
the lace curtains before the open windows. • 

Probably it was this that had blown the gas out, and, 
supposing that the gas was escaping, Mrs. Clare was about 
to leave her bed for the purpose of turning it off, when 
her eyes became suddenly Aiveted to one spot in the moon- 
lit room. 


54 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


The sight she beheld seemed to turn the warm blood to 
an icy current in her veins. 

t/ 

She tried to cry out, to raise her hand to the bell- cord 
hanging just within her reach, but her arm was rigid and 
powerless, her voice failed to obey her will, and she could 
only gaze with wide, horrified eyes upon the sight revealed 
to her by the moonlight. 


CHAPTER XV. 

LEONE. 

“ Her face is pale, not with the lily’s whiteness, 

But like a rose with death-stroke at its core; 

Her glowing eyes wear not the sunbeam’s brightness — 

Seem beacon lights that mark a storm-racked shore; 

Her voice is low and calm, and gentle ever, 

Without a tender note or quivering sign; 

While the faint smile that wreathes the red lips seemeth 
The midnight sunbeam of an Arctic sky.” 

Queer quill. 

The parlors of the Delmore mansion in Pierrepont Street, 
Brooklyn, were brilliantly illuminated on a pleasant sum- 
mer evening. One week later — on the evening of the 
very day that Madeline Clare had promised to meet Basil 
Brandon in Willow Street, to give him her final answer 
to his suit. 

Low, sweet strains of music stole from out the open win- 
dows, and the surrounding air was heavy with the perfume 
of rare flowers. 

A brilliant throng of guests filled the spacious rooms to 
overflowing, and the gaslight fell on many a glittering 
gem. 

There were many handsome and stately women present 
in Ralph Delmore 1 s elegant parlors that night, but none 
could compete in personal beauty or richness of attire with 
Ralph Delmore’ s own lovely, dusky -faced daughter, in 
whose honor this reception had been given, the second 
since her return from school. 

“ She looks like some proud eastern queen stepped down 
from the canvas of one of the old masters,” said a great 
artist who chanced to be among the guests, as Leone swept 

past him on the arm of Senator S , looking stately 

enough to warrant the extravagant comparison, with her 
trailing robes of amber satin glistening through folds of 
web-like lace, and bands ot dead gold around her throat 
and wrists. 

1 ‘Won’t she create a sensation at Newport?” remarked 
another of the gentlemen guests, watching the graceful 
figure out of sight, scarcely conscious that he had spoken 
his thoughts aloud. 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


55 


“I rather think she will be the belle of the season,'’ 
drawled a musical voice close by his elbow ; and starting as 
if detected in some treasonable thought or action, the first 
speaker turned to confront the man who had overheard 
his remark. 

“ How you startled me, Townley. I was not aware that 
I had spoken aloud,” he said, gayly, linking his arm within 
that of Townley, no other than Dr. Percy Townley, Little 
Sunshine’s guardian. 

“ Excuse me for a moment, Grey; I must deliver a mes- 
sage to Miss Leone from her father,” said Townley, quickly 
withdrawing his arm from that of his friend, and saunter- 
ing off in the direction taken by Leone and the senator. 

He succeeded in finding her, after a brief search, alone in 
the recess of a bay-window, where the senator had left her 
while he went to bring her an ice. 

Percy Townley stood for a moment gazing upon Leone 
Delmore unobserved^ 

It was truly a lovely face upon which his eyes rested, a 
face full of passion and power. 

Just now its predominant expression was one of weari- 
ness and discontent. 

There was a look of brooding sadness in the large, lumi- 
nous eyes, and while Townley continued to gaze upon her, 
the proud lips quivered as with some inward emotion. 

“Leone!” he said softly, and the girl started, but, as if 
unwilling to let him see that he had alarmed her, looked 
boldly into his face. “Leone! I have been seeking an op- 
portunity of speaking with you all evening. Fortune has 
favored me at last, my beautiful Leone! Do you know 
how lovely you are to-night — nay, do not turn from me so 
coldly, you must let me speak. ’ ’ 

As these words fell from Percy Townley ’s lips Leone 
arose to her feet, with a flash from her black eyes. 

“Must! Dr. Townley, you use strange words. I do not 
choose to listen to you ; I am tired of your idle compliments. 
I gave you my answer a week ago, and I tell you now, once 
for all, that I will never give you a different one. Let me 
pass, sir, I wish to go to my mother. ’ ’ 

Dr. Townley did not appear to have heard Leone’s last 
sentence, for he made no motion toward standing out of 
her path. 

He was staring rudely into her beautiful, indignant face, 
and laughing softly. 

‘ 4 Ma belle Leone ! I love to see you in a passion, ’ ’ he said, 
insolently, adding as the girl attempted to sweep past him : 
“Listen to one word, Leone, and then you may go, or 
rather I will beg the honor of conducting you to youv 
mother’s side; you have positively assured me that you 


56 LITTLE SUNSHINE . 

will never give me any other answer than that of a week 
ago. I asked you then to be my wife. Your answer was 
a decided 4 no.' 1 Now, chere amie ! allow me to prophesy 
that ere this week is out I will repeat the same question, 

and your answer will be ‘ yes. ’ Ah ! Senator S , Miss 

Delmore had grown almost impatient of waiting for your 
return — excuse me, I see Mr. Delmore beckoning me,” and 
with a graceful bow Percy Townley withdrew, leaving 
Senator S to apologize to Miss Delmore for his delay. 

“Mamma, lam going to leave the parlors for half an 
hour. My head is aching dreadfully ; excuse me to any of 
the guests who may inquire for me,” said Leone to her 
mother, half an hour later, and before the latter could 
reply, Leone had left her side and stolen quietly out of the 
room unobserved. 

“ I feel as if I were stifling; I will go out into the garden, 
where no one will be likely to seek me, ’ ’ Leone whispered, 
and in a few moments she was wandering about the flower 
garden at the back of the house, pondering over Percy 
Townley’ s strange manner and alarming words. 

He had asserted positively that ere the week was ended 
he would repeat the question already put to her, and that 
her answer would be yes. 

44 Never! never! the man is hateful to me. The very 
sound of his voice distresses me, the touch of his hand 
fills me with loathing. Not were he king, with power to 
place a queen’s coronet on my brow, would I be Percy 
Townley ’s wife. ’ ’ 

It seemed to Leone as if the sound of Percy Townley ’s 
light laughter was borne to her ears in mockery, and she 
shivered in the balmy, summer air. 

By and by she left the garden, and still anxious to avoid 
meeting any of the guests, passed through the lower hall- 
way, past the wondering servants in the kitchen, and into 
the deserted dining-room, where she stood before one of the 
windows, pressing her heated forehead against the glass, 
and gazing absently out over a little group of idlers who 
had gathered outside, attracted by the music. 

While she stood thus, a little figure, black-robed, and 
tottering from weakness or some other cause, pushed its 
way through the crowd, without pausing to listen to the 
gay strains of the band. 

As this figure was jostled by some rude boys under the 
gaslamp, the light fell full upon its face, a lovely, child- 
ish face, with wistful, brown eyes and short rings of golden 
hair. 

“Madeline, Madeline,” cried Leone; and in another mo- 
ment she would have been beside the little figure under 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 57 

the gas-lamp, but. strong arms held her back, and Madeline 
passed onward. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A STRANGE BETROTHAL. 

“ In the grave no sorrows gather, 

Through the long uncounted years; 

They who press a coffin pillow 
Never damp its down with tears. 

Cold, still hearts have done with trouble, 

And white lips with wail of woe, 

While dreamless, mornless slumbers wait 
The life-weary. Be it so.” 

Leone Delmore raised her eyes from their startled con- 
templation of the little figure under the gaslight to find 
the dark, scornful face of her father bent close to her own, 
and to feel the strong, almost fierce pressure of his en- 
circling arms. 

“ I arrived upon the scene just in time, it appears. Rash 

f irl! what were you about to do? Do you forget that I 
ave strictly forbidden you to renew your intercourse with 
Lester Clare’s daughter? Leone, if you persist in disobey- 
ing me, the consequences will be ” 

Leone interrupted him with a quick, imperious gesture 
peculiar to her. 

“ I understand! but let me go, sir! Madeline Clare is in 
trouble ! I have seen her alone in the city streets at this 
late hour. Oh, my Little Sunshine ! I will go to you, let 
the consequences be what they may!” 

As Leone uttered these last words, she shot a defiant 
glance at her father from under her long, black lashes, 
and shook herself free from his encircling arms. 

He seemed to have no fear of her carrying her threat 
into execution, however ; indeed, he laughed aloud, as if in 
keen enjoyment of this little exhibition of spirit on the part 
% of his beautiful daughter. 

He seated himself coolly to await her next movement. 
A long, dark, waterproof cloak, evidently belonging to one 
of the servants, was lying over a chair-back, and in this 
garment Leone hastily enveloped herself ; completely con- 
cealing the glistening folds of her rich evening-dress. 

Thus attired she would have ran from the house in the 
hope of overtaking Madeline Clare. Her foot was already 
across the threshold. 

Another moment, and she would have passed out of her 
father’s sight, but ere she had made another motion one 
low, whispered word fell from Ralph Delmore’ s lips, a word 
that had the effect of bringing her back to his side, where 
she stood like a beautiful statue, erect and motionless, the 


58 


LITTLE SUNSHINE, 


cloak falling unheeded from her shoulders to the floor, her 
hands tightly clasped, with the palms thrown outward, her 
face, that had been flushed with excitement a moment be- 
fore, now ashen pale, and her curved lips quivering and 
growing white with emotion. 

“Ah, my God! I had forgotten,” she said, softly, but 
the tone of suppressed agony in her voice was pitiful to 
hear. “I had forgotten,” she repeated in the same de- 
spairing tones, as she threw her hands over her face with 
a gesture of intolerable suffering, while her father gazed 
upon her with a smile upon his lips, a smile of mingled 
mockery and triumph. 

By and by he approached her, and touched her white 
arm, as if to arouse her to a sense of her surroundings. 

“ Come, Leone! this scene must end. Your absence will 
be noticed by our guests — your guests, my daughter /” 

It would be impossible to convey in writing an idea of 
the scornful emphasis Ralph Delmore placed on the words 
we have italicized. 

Leone shivered when his hand touched her, and she mo- 
tioned him away from her with her white, slender hand, 
but seemed unable to speak. 

There was no sign of relenting on the father 1 s face as he 
again addressed her. 

‘ 4 Leone ! there is one who awaits your appearance impa- 
tiently in the parlors above — my friend, Percy Townley. 
Remember it is my wish that you treat this gentleman with 
more than common courtesy. He is the man I have chosen 
for your husband .” 

Now, indeed, Leone found her voice. 

4 4 My husband he shall never be. You can do your worst ; 
there is still one refuge when all else fails, the refuge of the 
grave. I shall seek this rest from my sorrows if you goad 
me much further.” 

“Pshaw, my dear, you talk like a silly sentimentalist. 
Rest in the grave, indeed — bah! You have better sense 
than your words would lead one to suppose. You have no 
intention of resorting to such desperate measures. You 
will marry Percy Townley like a dutiful daughter, and 
cease your vain struggles against the inevitable destiny laid 
out for you. Come, now, my queenly Leone, our guests 
will think it strange. Ah, here is Dr. Townley come in 
search of you, truant. -Percy, my boy, you must excuse 
Leone; she is suffering from one of her troublesome head- 
aches. I will leave her in your charge while I explain the 
cause of her absence to our friends.” 

“No, no! I am going directly back to the parlors,” 
cried Leone, as she realized her father’s intention of leav- 
ing her alone with Dr. Townley, but Mr. Delmore was 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


59 


already out of hearing, and Percy Townley stood between 
her and the only means of exit. 

Leone no longer looked haughty and defiant. Her ex- 
pression was that of one who had given up fighting against 
an adverse fate, too weak to cope with the powerful ad- 
versaries ranged against her. 

Percy Townley was quick to notice the changed expres- 
sion of her proud, dark face, and an exultant gleam shot 
from his eyes as he addressed her in a low voice : 

“Leone, have you thought better of my proposal?- Do 
not you think you might learn in time to return my love?’’ 

Leone gazed at him in silence for a moment, studying 
his countenance eagerly, as if vainly seeking some sign of 
pity there. 

It was a scornful, indocile, and a sarcastic face upon 
which her eyes rested, and she soon turned from it with a 
bitter, heart- wrung sigh. 

“ I have already given you my answer, and told you you 
need expect no other,” she said, desperately, making an 
attempt to pass him, as she concluded. 

Percy Townley put forth his hand to detain her. 

“ Wait one moment, my dear; I have a few more words 
to say to you. I will not keep you five minutes longer. 
Listen, Leone, and think well before you again refuse 
toe.” 

He bent closely over her as he spoke, so closely indeed 
that his warm breath fanned her cheek, and whispered a 
few brief sentences in her ear. 

Leone’s face did not change in the least. It was al- 
ready as white as it would ever be in its coffin, but the ex- 
pression of her eyes, when she turned them for one moment 
on her companion, would have awakened pity in a heart of 
stone. 

“Be merciful! Do not drive me to end with my own 
hand the life that is such cruel torture! Oh, Percy Town- 
ley, you will one day plead for mercy at the Judgment 
Seat. How will you answer to the Mighty Judge if you 
drive me to this fearful act?” 

Leone’s white fingers were clinging to his arm in her 
agony of appeal, and her luminous eyes uplifted to his 
own; but there was not one throb of pity in Dr. Townley ’s 
heart. 

The touch of her soft hands thrilled him, the beauty of 
her face maddened him, and before she could realize his in- 
tention, he had flung his arms around her, and was hold 
ing her fiercely to his breast. 

“Answer me, Leone! will you be my wife?” he cried, in 
a tone that was hoarse and tremulous with passion. Leone 
struggled to release herself from the hateful embrace, but 


/ 


BO LITTLE SUNSHINE. 

as well might a bird have struggled to release itself from 
the toils of a hunter. The strong arms strained her closer, 
the dark, burning eyes seemed looking into her very heart, 
and a shudder of loathing ran through every fiber of her 
being, even while her white lips breathed the word for 
which he listened so eagerly, the simple word fraught with 
such terrible meaning — “ Yes.” 

In very pity he released her from his arms then, only re- 
taining her left hand long enough to slip upon her slender 
forefinger a magnificent solitaire diamond, in a curious, an- 
tique setting, as a sign of her bondage, knowing that the 
sight of it would be hateful to her as the cruel brand burned 
into the flesh of a slave. 

Ten minutes later, and they entered the crowded parlors 
together, Townley’ s face flushed and triumphant, and 
Townley ’s diamond flashing and sparkling like a living eye 
of fire on Leone’s white hand. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

HEARTS AND HANDS. 

“ The hearts of old gave hands; 

But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.' ’ 

Leone soon found herself the center of a group of ad- 
mirers, before whom she was forced to wear a smiling face, 
while it seemed that her heart was literally breaking, and 
the golden circlet Percy Townley had placed upon her 
finger burning into her flesh like the cruel branding-iron. 

Leone was an intensely proud woman, and feeling that 
she was the observed of all observers, she forced her lips to 
smile, and charmed her hearers with her gay flashes of wit 
and repartee, and brilliant conversational powers. 

Some one begged her to favor them with a song, and to 
the amazement of Percy Townley and Ralph Delmore she 
complied unhesitatingly, her clear voice ringing out, with 
a wonderful power and pathos in the words of Swinburne: 

“ Where, when the gods would be cruel, 

Do they go for a torture? where 
Plant thorns, set pain as a jewel? 

Ah! not in the flesh, not there! 

The rocks of earth and the rode 
Are weak as foam on the sands; 

In the heart is the prey for gods, 

Who crucify hearts, not hands/’ 

Many wondered at the song Leone had chosen, and the 
passionate fervor with which it was rendered, but when 
she turned on them her beautiful, brilliant face, none 
guessed that in her heart, the cruel gods had planted 
thorns, and “ set pain as a jewel.” She was the life of the 
company during the rest of the night, and Ralph Delmore, 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 61 

watching her, was conscious of a vague feeling of uneasi- 
ness. 

“She w r ears Townley’s ring, she must therefore have 
consented to be his wife, although she said she would pre- 
fer death to a union with him. Can it be that she has re- 
solved to seek this refuge from her trouble? I must watch 
her closely; it would not do to lose her thus, after the 
wearisome work of the last eighteen years,” were the 
words he muttered, as his eyes followed the graceful move- 
ments of his queenly daughter through the brilliantly - ' 
lighted rooms. 

44 Ralph! what has come over Leone to-night, she seems 
strangely, feverishly happy?” exclaimed a voice at his 
elbow, and Ralph Delmore turned toward the speaker — his 
beautiful, stately wife - with a light laugh: 

“ Why should she not be happy, Valerie? She has given 
her promise to be Percy Townley’s wife. Have not you 
noticed his diamond on her finger?” 

‘ 4 Percy Townley’s wife ! Oh, Ralph, what glorious news ! 
Now, indeed, we can be happy, we are safe— freed from the 
haunting cares w T hich have oppressed us for the last eight- 
een years. Leone betrothed to Percy Townley! Oh, 
Ralph, I can scarcely realize it ! I can scarcely believe that 
she will marry him, for I know she does not care for him — 
nay ! I have seen her shrink from the touch of his hand 
with actual loathing. ? ’ 

Ralph Delmore interrupted his wife with a gesture of im- 
patience. 

44 What nonsense you talk, Valerie, love! Indeed — bah! 

I hate such sillv sentimentalism. Hands, not hearts, are 
united in our days. I commanded Leone to give Percy 
Townley a favorable answer, and, like a dutiful daughter, 
she has obeyed me. There is no question of love in the 
matter, I presume.” 

At this moment one of the guests joined them, and was 
soon in conversation with Mrs. Delmore, while Mr. Delmore 
strolled off by himself, feeling unusually excited over the 
events of the evening. 

4i How proud the girl is,” he murmured, as Leone’s gay 
faugh was wafted to his ears. “How intensely proud! 
Even Valerie is deceived by her assumption of gayety. I 
shall not feel quite safe until the words have been spoken 
that will make her Townley’s wife. I can scarcely realize 
that I have won so easy a victory over her. ’ ’ 

Delmore’ s meditations were here broken in upon by one 
of his guests. 

4 4 1 say, Delmore, who is that tall, handsome, fairhaired 
fellow talking with your wife ! By Jove ! he looks like one 
of the old Saxon kings. Of whom does he remind me? 


62 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


Ah, I have it ! He is the living image of poor Lester Clare. 
You knew Clare, didn’t you? Clare, who died so suddenly 
some weeks ago?” 

Del more’s countenance had undergone a change when 
his friend mentioned the name of Lester Clare, and he an- 
swered the question put to him somewhat coldly. 

‘ ‘ I have met Lester Clare, but I fail to trace any resem- 
blance to him in the features of my nephew, Arthur Lee, the 
gentleman at present conversing with my wife. Ah ! he is 
coming this way. Arthur, my boy, let me make you 
acquainted with my friend, Fred Pauls, the eminent 
musical composer, with whose name no doubt you are al- 
ready familiar.” 

Ralph Delmore, having thus introduced his nephew to 
the person who had compared the latter to a Saxon king, 
sauntered away in an opposite direction, leaving the two 
young men to entertain each other as best suited them. 

They were both strikingly handsome men, although exact 
opposites in personal appearance. 

As they are both destined to figure more or less prom- 
inently in our story, a word of description may not be 
amiss. 

Ralph Delmore’ s nephew, Arthur Lee, was a man well 
known— under the high-sounding nom deplume used for pro- 
fessional purposes — on the operatic stage, being a popular 
tenor singer. 

At the time of which we write he had just returned 
from a protracted residence abroad, having sung with 
great success before nearly all the crowned heads of 
Europe. 

Despite his immense popularity, Arthur Lee was a 
modest and retiring fellow, shy and embarassed in the 
society of the fair sex, and shunning rather than seeking 
their company. He was tall, broad-shouldered and finely 
formed, and walked with a springing step and a free play 
of the muscles, denoting activity. His complexion was 
singularly fair for a man’s, the delicate tracery of blue 
veins being visible on his broad forehead, from which the 
soft, brown hair was thrown carelessly back, with an utter 
disregard for the mandates of fashion. A luxuriant mus- 
tache of the same brown shade partly concealed his hand- 
some mouth, while his eyes, also brown, were by far the 
finest features of his face, changing with every varied emo- 
tion or passion stirring in his heart. 

Fred Pauls, the musical composer, was, as we have 
said, totally dissimilar in personal appearance. Pauls was 
dark as a Spaniard, his complexion of a clear olive-brown, 
his eyes as black as midnight — large, languishing eyes that 
could flash with sudden animation, and light up tiie dark 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


63 


face with a singular radiance; a handsome mouth that 
parted often in a dazzling smile, and revealed teeth so 
small, and white, and even, that many women envied him 
their possession. In stature he was below the medium 
height, small, active and wiry. Unlike Arthur Lee. Fred 
Pauls was fully conscious of his own personal advantages, 
and delighted in the homage of womankind. He w r as in- 
deed, to use a common but expressive phrase, “a lady’s 
man, 1 ’ delighting in his power over the weaker sex, and 
careless of how he used that power. 

These two men, the singer and the musician, conversed 
for some time with mutual pleasure in each other’s society, 
until Pauls’ glance rested on some lady with whom he 
wished to speak, and he soon left Arthur’s side. 

Mr. Delmore was passing at this moment, and linked 
Arthur’s arm within his own, while Arthur suddenly ex- 
claimed : 

“By the way, my dear uncle, I have not yet been pre- 
sented to my cousin Leone. She was only a little, child 
when I set sail for Italy, ten years ago — dear little Leo ! I 
wonder if I should recognize her now? Why, Uncle 
Ralph, what is the matter? You are shivering! Are you 
ill?” 

Mr. Delmore’ s appearance certainly warranted the last 
question. His face was pale, his lips compressed, and at 
Arthur’s words a strong shudder had run through his 
frame. 

‘ 1 1 am not at all well to-night, Arthur. I think I shall 
be obliged to retire early. Valerie, my dear,” (as Mrs. Del- 
more joined them), “present Arthur to Leone; he has not 
met her since his return.” 

With these words, Mr. Delmore retired, leaving his wife 
with Arthur Lee. 

Mrs. Delmore and Arthur walked the round of the par- 
lors once or twice, but Leone had again escaped from the 
gay throng, arid Arthur soon released his aunt from her at- 
tendance on him, and strode away by himself, almost for- 
getting his anxiety to be presented to his cousin. 

It was quite a sultry night, and finding the parlors op- 
pressive, Arthur made his way to the elegant conserva- 
tories, which were, to all appearance, deserted at the time. 

“ Ah, how refreshing after those warm, crowded rooms. 
How the gay scene wearies me. How I should dislike the 
gay, inactive life of these men of fashion — bah ! I should 
die of ennui in less than a year, dancing attendance on 
these silly butterflies of fashion. My own wandering life 
suits me best — hello!” 

The last irrelevant expression broke involuntarily from 
the lips of Arthur Lee, as the rustle of a woman’s silken 


64 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


garments near him warned him that he was not alone, and 
that his muttered soliloquy had probably been overheard 
by one of the “silly butterflies” of whom he had spoken 
so slightingly. 

His fair face colored like a woman’s, and he looked 
quickly around him as if meditating flight, but at this mo- 
ment a woman’s figure came slowly from behind an orange- 
tree, near which he had seated himself, and stood before 
him, his cousin Leone. 

He raised his eyes slowly, half-reluctantly, and they 
rested upon a picture, the memory of which lasted while 
life endui ed, the picture of Leone as she first appeared to 
him, with the gleam of the night and the perfume of the 
flowers around her, and the soft, subdued light of that 
dusky retreat falling with a singular radiance on the 
passionate loveliness of her matchless face. 

He recognized her immediately, and forgetting that he 
had left her ten years ago, a little child, he held out both 
his hands in wordless greeting, his heart thrilling with a 
strange, new feeling of happiness as Leone placed her own 
in Them, saying gently : j 

“ You are my cousin, Arthur Lee, I presume; I have not 
forgotten you.” 

Arthur scarcely knew what answer he made her, he only, 
knew that he retained her hands in his clasp, and drew her 
down to a seat beside him, while the moments flew by on 
golden wings, as they talked of the days of their childhood, 
the happy days gone by. 

By and by the light died out of the beautiful face of 
Leone, and one deep sob broke from her heart as a memory 
of the present intruded itself. 

“Leo, you are weeping, my cousin. What have I said 
to pain you?” cried Arthur, deeply distressed, and half 
kneeling before her, still clasping her hands. 

How she longed to tell him all, to open her suffering heart 
to him, this brother of her childhood. 

She had never thought of Arthur in any other light than 
that of a brother, and yielding to an involuntary impulse 
now, hungering for human sympathy as only a passionate 
and loving woman can hunger, she let her head fall for- 
ward on Arthur’s shoulder and nestled her hands closer in 
his warm, protecting clasp. 

At this moment there was the sound of a heavy footstep 
near them, and before Leone could change her position 
Percy Townley stood not two feet from her, gazing down 
upon her with a look not pleasant to see on any man’s 
face, 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


65 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

WHAT WAS IT? 

“ In the shuddering dawn, behold, 

Without knowledge, without pity, 

By the curtains of my bed 
That abiding phantom cold.” Tennyson. 

We must now return to the night — a week previous to 
the evening of Leone Delmore’s reception — on which the 
negro Sam overheard the conversation between Percy 
Townley and Louise Clare from his place of concealment in 
the “massa’s study.” 

It will be remembered that Lester Clare’s widow 
awakened suddenly from her sleep to find that the gas, 
which she had left burning, had been extinguished, and 
the room was lighted alone by the rays of a bright moon. 

She had half arisen from her bed, for the purpose of 
approaching the gas-jets over her dressing-case, either to 
re-light the gas, or satisfy herself that it had been properly 
turned off, when her eyes fell upon an object thtit filled her 
with terror impossible to describe. She teas not alone in 
her chamber. Some awful thing, some white, shadowy, 
impalpable form, was gliding slowly along the opposite wall, 
moving with noiseless step, and holding out its white- draped 
arms, like one groping blindly in the dark. 

Mrs. Clare — after that first vain attempt to cry out, or 
ring for assistance — fell back upon her pillows, helpless as 
the dead, and utterly unable to remove her eyes from their 
horrified contemplation of that shadowy figure. 

What was it? She had all her life scoffed at the idea of 
spirit visitants, and laughed to scorn any who were foolish 
enough to believe that the dead could come back to the 
earth from w r hence they had been summoned, yet since 
the death of Lester Clare she had suffered tortures, first 
finding herself haunted by dreams of an awful, accusing 
face, the face of her dead husband, and now by this dread- 
ful presence, bearing Lester’s form and semblance. 

This was the third time the specter had appeared to her. 
Its face she could not see, for the head seemed to be en- 
veloped in the white folds of its ghostly garments. 

Off the first occasion of the appearance of this vision 
Louise Clare had cried out, and immediately lost conscious- 
ness, awakening to find her daughter bending over her, 
and the dreadful presence vanished. 

For some inexplicable reason she had refrained from 
telling the true cause of her swooning, and when the vision 
again appeared to her she preserved a like silence, suffer- 


06 LITTLE SUNSHINE. 

ing exquisite torture, and locking the secret in her own 
heart. 

This, as we have said, was the third occasion of its ap- 
pearance, and unable longer to endure the frightful strain 
on nerve and brain, she would have called the entire house- 
hold to her aid, had strength been given her to carry out 
her intention. 

As it was, she was utterly powerless, and could not even 
close her eyes to shut out the dreadful sight. It held her 
with a peculiar species of fascination. 

She noted its every movement, as it continued to mov r e 
along the wall at the opposite side of the room, with those 
slow, noiseless gliding steps. 

At last it paused, and seemed to press its hands — also en- 
veloped in that shadowy white drapery — against the rose- 
tinted wall. 

It seemed to the excited fancy of the watcher that 
the wall yielded to the pressure of those ghostly hands, 
until a square opening was revealed about a foot in di- 
ameter. 

At this moment the moon disappeared behind a cloud, 
leaving the room in total darkness, and shutting out from 
her strained gaze that awful, ghostly visitant. 

Louise Clare's horror was increased tenfold by the cir- 
cumstance. 

The idea of that dreadful thing being near her in the 
darkness was infinitely worse than when she could follow 
its motions. 

She could never tell how long she had lain thus, straining 
her eyes in the darkness, when the cloud passed from be- 
fore the face of the moon, and the room was again flooded 
with her light. 

There was nothing to be seen of the specter now, and the 
rose-tinted wall was smooth and unbroken, its polished 
surface faintly illumined by the moonlight. 

When the widow realized that she was freed from the 
awful presence, the reaction was so great that she could 
have cried aloud with joy, but she restrained herself, and 
controlled her voice to call in careless tones on her daugh- 
ter’s name. 

Laura, whose room adjoined the apartment now occu- 
pied by her mother, came at once in answer to the latter’s 
call, being herself restless and unable to sleep after the ex- 
citing interview with Basil Brandon, and the downfall of 
her cherished hopes. 

‘ 1 My dear, I am sorry to disturb you, but my head is 
aching frightfully, and I thought you might be good 
enough to bathe it forme,” began Mrs. Clare, when her 
daughter appeared. 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


67 


“Why did you not ring for your maid?” ejaculated the 
dutiful daughter; but, at the first sight of her mother's 
pallid face, she regretted the impatient words, and set 
about bathing the burning head, remorsefully. 

“That will do, Laura darling; 1 feel much better, and 
you may leave me ; but first, dear, see that my chamber 
door is locked. I have left my jewel casket around, some 
place, carelessly, and that new servant I engaged Tuesday 
does not look entirely trustworthy.” 

Laura went to do her bidding, calling back in a moment : 

“The door was not locked, mamma; how very careless 
you are.” 

Mrs. Clare did not answer. She had buried her face in 
the pillow as if she were courting sleep, but in reality to 
hide it from her daughter’s sharp eyes. 

She was trembling in every limb, and great drops of icy 
sweat stood like beads on her forehead. She remembered 
distinctly having locked her door immediately on entering 
the room. She had asked Laura to try the door merely 
to satisfy herself that the specter— or whatever the ghostly 
thing might be called — had not made its entrance, or exit, 
by means of the door. 

Laura retired to her own chamber without having no- 
ticed her mother’s unusual agitation. 

It would be beyond my power to describe the state of 
nervous agitation in which Louise Clare passed the rest of 
that momentous night. 

Morning found her ill and feverish, but she would not 
consent to keep her bed. She had resolved to acquaint Dr. 
Townley with the events of the night. She was desirous 
of concealing all traces of fear from her beloved daughter, 
and for this purpose she assumed a cheerfulness she was 
far from feeling. 

At the breakfast-table a new surprise awaited her. Sam 
was not to be seen, another servant having taken his place 
at the table. 

“Where is Sam? Why is he not here to wait on the 
table as usual?” Mrs. Clare exclaimed angrily, to which 
the domestic,, who was performing Sam’s duties, replied: 

“We none o’ us know where Samis gone, ma’am, but 
he didn’t sleep in his bed las’ night, and this mornin’ he’s 
nowhere to be found. ’ ’ 

“Nowhere to be found,” echoed his mistress, blankly, 
scarcely knowing why the intelligence of Sam’s disappear- 
ance troubled her, since she had only the night before ex- 
pressed an earnest desire to be rid of him. 

“I don’t think we’ll cry about him, mamma, but you 
had better examine your silver in case he may have taken 
a fancy to some of it* and carried it off with him, ’ ’ said 


68 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


Laura, spitefully, for she had always, for some unaccount' 
able reason, hated the poor negro. 

Laura’s suggestion was acted upon, but not an article 
was missing. Indeed Sam appeared to have taken nothing 
with him in his flight, for his trunk, filled with really good 
clothing that had been given him by his master, was found 
in its usual place in the attic where he had slept. 

Much as she had wished to be free of his presence, Mrs. 
Clare was now terribly uneasy. 

“Why had he gone away in such a secret and silent 
manner? When and under what circumstances would she 
see him again?” 

While Sam’s mistress was thus puzzling herself to ac- 
count for his flight, and asking herself these unanswerable 
questions, where was the faithful old servant of the dead 
Lester Clare. 

We have seen him when he bade his farewell to the pict- 
ured semblance of his master, proclaiming by the simple 
act his intention of leaving the house. 

Leaving the study, he ascended to his attic chamber, but 
with no intention of retiring to rest. 

We will not follow his movements during the hour that 
followed his entrance into that garret chamber; but at the 
end of that short space of time it was evident that some- 
thing had occurred to fill his heart with joy. 

It was a strange sight to behold him then. Alone in his 
narrow attic, lighted only by the ray of the moon, he held 
aloft a folded paper, which he waved above his head with 
extraordinary gestures of triumph, speaking no words lest 
his fellow servants might overhear him. 

Once or twice he pressed the paper to his lips and again 
held it out in his hands in the direction of the “study,” 
sinking at last upon his knees before his low cot bed, and 
praying silently with his black face hidden on the precious 
document. 

It was a strange pantomime, worthy the pen of a drama- 
tist. A silent scene fraught with a deep and significant 
meaning that would one day be explained. Rising from his 
knees at last the negro attired himself in a neat suit of 
black — a suit that had once been worn by his dead master, 
and rolled into a bundle some ichite garments, which bun- 
dle he carried with him, when at dawn of day he stole 
quietly out of his attic, down the stairs, and out of the 
house, turning his head resolutely away as he passed the 
study door, as if another sight of his master’s face would 
unnerve him. 

The folded paper, evidently a highly-prized treasure, was 
hidden between his clothing and his breast, where he could 
feel it with every rise and fall of his faithful heart. 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


69 


He walked on briskly after he had left the house, hurry- 
ing swiftly onward through the gray mist of the early 
dawn, with a hopeful smile on his face, and thoughts of his 
dead master in his heart. 

Suddenly he paused, as if a new idea had occurred to 
him. 

“ Whar’s I a-goin’ at dis hour oh de mornin 1 ? Golly, 
folks belibe I’s crazy if I don't take care. I reckon I’d 
better go in here, an’ drink a cup ob coffee while I’s 
waitin’ fo’ de daylight; it’ll kinder freshen me up a bit.” 

Sam paused before the door of a dingy-looking chop- 
house, on the windows of which were painted, in glaring 
red letters, the words — “ Open all night,” and after a mo- 
ment he entered, hugging to him his newspaper bundle 
containing the white garments. 

Several rough-looking men were gathered around the 
tables inside the saloon, talking and laughing in boisterous 
tones. 

Sam was no coward, but he regretted having entered 
this place, for he saw at once the inmates were under the 
influence of liquor, and he dreaded their ridicule. 

“Hello, blacky! what’s your lay?” “ I say, Snowball, 
ain’t yer goin’ ter treat?” and like ejaculations greeted his 
entrance; but Sam advanced boldly into their midst, fear- 
ful of being hooted as a coward if he attempted to with- 
draw. 

Poor Sam ! had he known to what sad consequences his 
visit to the chop-house was doomed to lead he would have 
fled from those vile men despite their sneers ; but he did 
not dream of what would be the result, and so rushed 
blindly to his doom. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

DARK DAYS. 

“ Though thy days on earth are stormy, 

Though thy skies are dark and cold, 

Still through darkness, woe, and danger, 

God, thy Father, doth uphold. 

“ Sin and sorrow lie around you, 

There is peace within His fold, 

And a promise He has given 
That the Father will uphold.” 

We must return for a time to our little heroine, Madeline 
Clare, and narrate what occurred from the day of her en- 
trance into the shirt factory of Fell & Hemmingway, to the 
night when Leone Delmore caught a glimpse of her pale 
young face under the gaslight before the latter’s home. It 
was a toilsome and wearying life upon which she had en- 


70 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


tered, this delicate, fragile girl, who had been so fondly 
loved, and so tenderly reared ; but she uttered no word of 
complaint, and bore the unkindness of her companions in 
the workroom with a gentle patience that should have put 
them to shame, but served instead to excite their anger, as 
it made them feel her superiority. 

No matter what her occupation or surroundings, Lina 
Clark — as she was there called— was unmistakably a lady, 
and it would seem that the foolish girls hated her for her 
quiet, lady -like demeanor and gentle patrician ways, so 
utterly unlike their own. 

Lydia Barton was, as Eliza Brown had prophesied, 
savagely jealous of the rival beauty, and lost no oppor- 
tunity of wounding her feelings. On the third day of 
Madeline’s apprenticeship, a little incident occurred, which 
had the effect of making Lydia Barton Madeline’s bitter 
enemy. 

It will be remembered that Lydia had been chosen by 
the forewoman to instruct Lina Clark in the art of shirt- 
making. The girl was anxious to learn, and attended care- 
fully to all Lydia’s directions, so that, unaccustomed as she 
was to much work, she made rapid progress, too rapid to 
suit Lydia, indeed, for on the third day Madeline under- 
stood the first branch of the trade thoroughly, winning a 
word of commendation even from the surly madame, in 
the presence of Oscar Hemming way, the junior partner of 
the firm, a gentleman who had of late been paying marked 
attention to the dark-eyed, dark-browed Lydia. 

Several times Lydia had caught the eyes of Oscar Hem- 
mingway fixed admiringly on the lovely face of Madeline ; 
and at such times she would grind her sharp, white teeth 
in impotent rage, and endeavor to think of some plan by 
which she might hope to oust this beautiful girl, who 
promised to be a rival much to be. feared. 

A graceful smile curved Madeline’s pretty lips as she 
listened to the first kind words that had been addressed 
her by madame since she entered the factory, and she bent 
her golden head over her work with the air of one deter- 
mined to conquer all obstacles. 

Lydia said nothing, but there was an ominous gleam in 
her black eyes, and a compression of the full red lips that 
spoke volumes. 

44 Liddy’s up to some mischief; I’ll keep my eye on her,” 
muttered Eliza Brown. 

But Eliza’s seat was, unfortunately, at the opposite end 
of the large workroom, and Lydia was too cunning to show 
her hand to any of her companions. 

Before the day was over, Lydia brought to Lina a new 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


n 


bundle of shirts, ready cut, and with bosoms of a differ- 
ent style and pattern from any Madeline had yet handled. 

Of course, Lina needed a little instruction, and Lydia sat 
down beside her to give it. 

Unknown to her, Oscar Hemmingway bad entered a lit- 
tle office not ten feet from her, through the open door of 
which he could see and hear all that transpired between 
her and the girl she was pret ending to instruct. 

Madeline thought Lydia unusually kind and gracious, 
but as she listened to Lydia’s instructions as to how the 
bosom was to be set in the shirt she held in her hand, a 
puzzled and wondering look came into Madeline’s face, and 
she asked her to repeat her instructions, as she feared she 
had not quite understood them. 

Lydia did so, and still the puzzled look only deepened 
on Madeline’s face. 

“ Are you sure you have told me the right way, Lydia? 
Oh, do not be angry with me, but ’ ’ 

Lydia interrupted her before she could proceed further : 

‘ ‘ Ha, ha ! Since madame praised your work you think 
you know more than I do about it. All right, Miss Lina 
Clark ; I shall tell madame you refuse to be guided by me 
any longer. 1 ’ 

She half rose from her seat as she spoke thus, as if to 
carry out her threat of going to the madame, but Lina held 
her back. 

“ No, no, Lydia! I will do just as you tell me. Forgive 
me, and oh, Lydia, be patient with me ! I do try to please 
you.” 

The piteous tone in which this child-like appeal was 
spoken, the beauty of the sweet, upturned face, the wist- 
ful pleading gaze of the soft brown eyes, and the tremu- 
lous quiver of the pretty lips upon which she gazed so 
coldly, might almost have moved a heart of stone; but 
Lydia, in her insane and unreasoning jealousy, was dead 
to all feelings of pity or compassion, and coldly answered 
Madeline’s appeal: 

“ If you wish to be taught by me, do as I say. There ! I 
have shown you ■what to do ; follow my directions, and you 
will be sure to be right.” 

She threw the muslin into Madeline’s lap as she con- 
cluded, and walked away toward her own seat, followed 
by the angry gaze of the man whose good opinion she 
valued above all others — Oscar Hemmingway. 

One hour later, and Hemmingway chanced to be in the 
workroom giving some instructions to madame, when 
Lydia appoached Lina Clark for the first time since she 
had given the latter the new shirts to do. 




LITTLE SUNSHINE 


n 

An exclamation of dismay broke from her lips as she ex- 
amined Lina’s work. 

“You have ruined three entire shirts!” she exclaimed, 
in a loud voice, that had the effect — as she intended it 
should— of bringing madame and Oscar Hemmingway to 
the spot in a moment. “See, madame,” cried Lydia, 
holding up a shirt before the forewoman’s sharp eyes — 
‘ 4 see, madame, I showed this girl how to do this new work, 
and she said I was not telling her right. She has done it 
her own way, and you see for yourself the result. Three 
of the new shirts are spoiled.” 

“Yes, completely spoiled, ” echoed madame, adding, as 
she saw Lina about to speak: “You need not try to ex- 
cuse your conduct, miss; we cannot have such a thing hap- 
pen again. Y^ou need not return to the factory to-morrow ; 
we will dispense with your services. ’ ’ 

Madame was turning away before Madeline could speak 
a word in her own defense, when, to her surprise, Mr. 
Hemmingway stopped her. 

“Wait one moment, madame; you know I do not make 
a practice of interfering with your management of the 
girls, but I cannot stand coolly by and see an injustice done 
to any person in my employ. Lydia Barton, I am sorry to 
say you have acted very culpably in this affair. I was in 
the office when you gave these shirts into Miss Clark’s 
hands, and I heard the directions you gave her. She has 
followed those directions to the letter, with the result you 
intended, the ruin of the work. It is but just that you 
should be made to pay the damage, and Lina Clark exon- 
erated from all blame. Madame, for the future let Nettie 
Smith give Lina any necessary instructions.” 

With these words Oscar Hemmingway turned on his heel 
and strode out of the workroom, without waiting for either 
of the three women to speak. 

Lydia Barton stood where he had left her, pale with sup - 
pressed passion, her black eyes glittering wrathfully, and 
her large, white hands, clinched tightly together. 

Madame was scarcely less enraged. Lydia was her fa- 
vorite, and it angered her to have the girl thus publicly 
reprimanded. She hated Lina for being the innocent cause 
of Lydia' s discomfiture, and apart from this Lina had been 
the first girl for whose sake Oscar Hemmingway had ever 
interfered with her management. He had said that Nettie 
Smith was to take charge of Lina for the future, and ma- 
dame dared not disobey him, although she registered a 
mental vow that Lina Clark should be driven from the 
place before many weeks had passed. 

Poor little Madeline was frightened at sight of those two 
angry, vindictive faces, but in the depths of her gentle 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


73 


heart she was sorry for Lydia, whose pride had been thus 
humbled in the presence of her companions. 

She arose from her seat and approached the place where 
Lydia stood, and ventured to lay her small hand on the 
latter’s arm. 

“ I am sorry for this, Lydia. I know it was all a mis- 
take. Do not grieve about it. I will pay for the work I 
have spoiled. You shall not be at any loss. ’ ’ 

Instead of conciliating, these generous words only seemed 
to fan the fuel of Lydia’s wrath. 

She w r as violent-tempered and passionate, and she flung 
Lina’s hand away from her fiercely, breaking forth into a 
torrent of abuse before which Madeline shrank and shiv- 
ered like a sensitive plant beneath a fierce wintery blast. 

“ You are a deceitful little hypocrite, and you think by 
your baby face and mock modest airs to interest Mr. Hem- 
mingway. You needn’t think to Impose on me, Lina 
Clark. I know you’re no better than you ought to be. 
I’m only a working-girl, and I’ve been that all my life, an’ 
I ain’t ashamed of it ; but you — nobody knows what you 
are, with your white hands and soft voice and dainty 
ways ’ ’ 

“Lydia! Lydia! I cannot allow such talk,” feebly pro- 
tested madame, secretly enjoying the scene. 

Lydia did not heed her, but continued to utter such bitter 
w;>rds that Madeline sank at last into a chair, white and 
trembling. 

Suddenly one of the sewing-machines was stopped ; there 
was the sound of a pair of scissors falling to the floor, and 
a large, homely-faced girl came from her seat and stood 
face to face with the enraged Lydia, saying in a loud, de- 
termined voice : 

“See here, Liddy Barton, I can’t sit still an’ hear you 
going on like this any longer. You’ve been boss o’ this 
shop for a long time, an’ you’re gettin’ too saucy. Lina 
Clark ain’t done nothin’ to deserve such abuse, an’ I’m 
a-goin’ to stand by her if nobody else will. Don’t cry, 
little one; ’Liza Brown will be your friend; an’ if Liddy 
Barton don’t let you alone pretty quick I’ll go to Mr. Hem- 
mingway an’ tell him every word she has said to you.” 

“ Go to your seat this instant, Eliza Brown. Do you hear 
me? Go to your seat or leave the factory immediately!” 
thundered madame, her small, gray eyes fairly ablaze with 
anger. 

She would have turned the girl out of the factory with- 
out a moment’s warning had she not feared Mr. Hemming- 
way’s displeasure. 

“Yes, i’ll go to my seat, madam©; I’ve said all I had to 
say, an’ I hope Liddy Barton will remember it,” said Eliza, 


74 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


as she returned to her seat, with one kind, encouraging 
glance in the direction of Lina Clark. 

Poor little Madeline ! she could never afterward have told 
how the remainder of that day passed. It was Nettie 
Smith who now sat beside her, and arranged her work, 
and Nettie’s gentle voice encouraged her, and bade her for- 
get the spiteful and cruel words of Lydia Barton, but Made- 
line could not banish the memory of them, and once or 
twice, when she caught the eyes of either Lydia or madame 
fixed upon her with a threatening look, she shivered with 
a vague feeling of foreboding. 

“Both of these women hate me, and they will try to 
make some trouble for me. I cannot stay here ; but — but 
where shall I go? — what shall I do? Oh, God of the orphan, 
guide and direct me!” she prayed, and as if strength was 
given her from the heaven to which she raised her in- 
nocent eyes, she resolved to remain in the factory as the 
place where she would be most secure from discovery, and 
in the meanwhile the days were passing, bringing her 
nearer to the dreaded hour when she must meet Basil 
Brandon, and decide the fate of the man whom she loved 
with all the fervor of her innocent heart — the poet, Audley 
Vernon. 

‘ ‘ I cannot — will not marry Basil Brandon, and yet, if I 
refuse him, Audley’ s bright hopes will be dashed to the 
earth. Oh, what a terrible alternative!” and again the 
poor girl appealed to Heaven for help and guidance, and 
grew sick at heart as the dreaded hour drew nearer. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A PAINFUL INTERVIEW. 

“ You asked me to be your wife, I think — 

To live in your life for your love’s dear sake. 

But the chalice you hold me I dare not drink, 

And the love you w r ould lavish I dare not take. 

All too quickly Madeline’s week of probation passed. 
After the scene described in the last chapter, there was no 
further disturbance in the workroom, for both Lydia and 
the madame stood in awe of Mr. Hemmingway, and feared 
to show any open expressions of enmity toward the girl 
whom he had defended, although they were nursing in 
their hearts a feeling of hatred toward her, and planning 
how they might gratify that unworthy passion. 

During all this week Madeline had avoided a meeting 
with Audley Vernon; and Audley. noticing her avoidance 
of him, felt hurt and pained, but was too thoroughly a 
gentleman to intrude his presence on her, 

Mrs. Vernon spent an hour every evening with Madeline 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


75 


and Nettie, talking rapturously of the bright life opening 
before her, and of the time when her beloved son would be 
famous, and the wearying toil of years repaid at last. 

“Is his book already in press? are the final arrange- 
ments completed? Is "there no possibility of disappoint- 
ment?” questioned Madeline, with breathless eagerness, 
on the eve of the day that was to witness her meeting with 
Basil Brandon. 

Mrs. Vernon looked at her wonderingly for a moment, 
and then, attributing her eagerness to a feeling of more 
than common interest in Audley, bent forward impulsively 
to kiss the pearl-fair face, and stroke with motherly tender- 
ness the golden hair of the girl she would have gladly 
welcomed as a daughter. 

“ There are still some arrangements to be made, the nat- 
ure of which I do not understand, my dear, and Audley has 
appeared somewhat disturbed at the delay; but Mr. Bran- 
don has promised to settle everything to-morrow evening. ' ’ 

“ To-morrow evening /” 

To Madeline the words bore a terrible significance. 
Brandon indeed intended to carry out his threat, and upon 
the answer she would give him on the morrow depended 
the future happiness or misery of Audley Vernon. 

Mrs. Vernon wondered at the sudden pallor of the fair 
young face, and drew the girl tenderly to her motherly 
bosom. 

‘ ‘ My dear child ! My poor little girl ! You are not strong 
enough for the work you have undertaken. Come down 
with me to my room, dear, where I may talk to you with- 
out paining Nettie. Audley is not at home, and we will be 
all alone. 1 * 

The last words were spoken in a low tone that did not 
reach the ears of Nettie Smith, who was bustling about the 
room, clearing away the tea-things ; and Mrs. Vernon drew 
Madeline with her toward the door. 

Madeline dreaded a meeting with Audley, but since he 
was not at home there could be no harm in entering the 
rooms with his mother, and so she accompanied Mrs. Ver- 
non down-stairs. 

“Sit right here, dear, in my nice easy-chair. Isn’t it 
comfortable? Audley bought it forme, clear fellow! he is 
always thinking of my comfort, he is so happy now in the 
thought that he will be able to provide for me so well in the 
future! my noble, poet son.” 

The fair, placid old face was all aglow with the light of 
mother love and pride in her boy, and looking on her thus 
Madeline mentally exclaimed : 

“ It would kill her to witness his downfall! Oh, I must 
—I mast save her, at whatever cost to myself.” 


76 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


At this moment a sudden, sharp cry broke from Mrs. 
Vernon’s lips, and she sank into a chair, pressing her hands 
to her left side. 

In a second Madeline was beside her, questioning her 
anxiously as to the cause of the outcry. 

“It is nothing, dear; it is over now; I am subject to 
these spells ; it is my heart, you know ; it has been affected 
for many years, but of late the attacks have been more 
frequent and painful. Any sudden emotion of joy or sor- 
row is apt to prove fatal, and so I may be taken from my 
boy at any moment and— oh, forgive me ! darling, I have 
made you weep. Little Sunshine, I had not meant to speak 
on this subject, but if you would promise to make Audley 
happy ” 

“Hush! he shall be happy,” interrupted Madeline, her 
intention of sacrificing herself to Brandon strengthened by 
Mrs. Vernon’s assertion that any sudden emotion of joy or 
sorrow was likely to prove fatal. ‘ ‘ He shall be happy, ’ ’ 
she repeated in a tone of stern determination, and, misin- 
terpreting the meaning of these words, Mrs. Vernon clasped 
the girl fondly to her heart, murmuring joyously: 

“ My sweet little daughter! My dear Little Sunshine !” 

At this moment there was the sound of a familiar foot- 
step in the hallway outside, and Audley Vernon entered 
the room, a flash of pleasure lighting up his handsome face 
at sight of Madeline. 

Madeline started out of Mrs. Vernon’s embrace, looking 
like a startled fawn, and glancing around as if contem- 
plating immediate flight from the room. Mrs. Vernon 
forced her gently back into her chair. 

“ Shy little dove! how I shall love you! my daughter,” 
she whispered, and then, before Madeline could realize her 
intention, she had quitted the room, leaving her son— as 
she fondly hoped — to learn of the happiness in store for 
him, from the lips of the girl he so devotedly loved. 

Audley had overheard her whispered words to Madeline, 
“How i shall love you, my daughter,” and they sent a 
thrill of hope and joy to his heart. 

“She called you her daughter; is it to be so, Lina, my 
darling?” 

There was a world of passionate tenderness in the tone 
in which these words were spoken, and Audley was bending 
over her, holding both her hands in a reverent clasp, and 
searching eagerly her downcast face foi some confirmation 
of the sweet hope his mother’s words had awakened in his 
heart. 

Madeline had not been prepared for this great trial. She 
tried to speak, to tell him that his hopes were groundless, 
and that she- dared not raise to her thirsty lips the sweet 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


W 

cup he held out to her, but the words died away in a low, 
quivering sigh, and in another moment she was sobbing 
passionately, with Audley ’s arms around her, and his deep, 
rich voice whispering words that thrilled her with a strange^ 
sweet happiness. 

For a moment she lay passive in his embrace, Basil Bran- 
don, the terrible secret of her father’s death chamber, and 
all else forgotten in the bliss of the present moment. 

‘ 1 Look up at me, Lina ; lift your eyes to mine that I may 
read your answer,” cried Audley, and Madeline obediently 
raised her eyes to his — eyes that were all alight with the 
love he had called to life in her innocent heart. “God 
bless you, my darling! I need no other answer. You love 
me — you will be mine — my wife ! Ah ! Lina, I do not de- 
serve such happiness. God is very good to me.” 

The poet’s handsome head was bent reverently as an in- 
voluntary prayer went up from his grateful heart to the 
Giver of all earthly blessings. 

The simple act seemed to recall Madeline from the dream 
into which she had fallen — the dream that could never be 
be realized. * 

She drew herself, shudderingly, from his embrace, and 
stood before him white and cold, and unnaturally calm. 

‘ ‘ I have been wrong to let you speak to me so. I —I can- 
not be your wife now, or ever — oh, do not question me — do 
not seek to know my reasons for this decision ; enough that 
it is unalterable; I cannot — dare not accept your generous 
offer!” 

She made a movement as if she would have left the room, 
eager to escape before her strength failed her. The im- 
pulse was strong upon her to throw herself upon Audley 
Vernon’s breast, and tell him the history of her former life, 
trusting to his love to shield her, and his strong arm to 
protect through all the coming years. It would have been 
best ; it would have saved her many a cruel heart-pang had 
she yielded to this impulse then and there ; but the memory 
of the last hour spent with her dying father arose like a 
phantom before her, and she was silent. 

Audley Vernon gazed on her face for a moment in utter 
silence, his face white with the anguish of his heart, one 
hand pressed over his forehead, and the other outstretched 
toward her, as if imploring mercy at her hands. 

“ Answer me one question, Lina,” he said at last, inter- 
cepting her in her passage toward the door. “ Have I been 
deceived in the language of your eyes? Is it true that you 
have no love for me?” 

He was almost cruel in his great agony, and Madeline 
shivered as she listened to him, and for a moment did not 

reply. 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


*78 

Misinterpreting her silence, Audley sank into a chair, 
covering his face with his hands, as if to shut out the sight 
of her fair face. She could see his broad chest heaving 
like the swell of the ocean waves, and the sight was more 
than she could endure. 

“ Audley,” she cried, and flung herself on her knees be- 
fore him, clasping her arms about him, and sobbing out the 
story of her love for him. “ Pity me, and — and forgive 
me. I do love you, Audley Vernon, but I cannot be your 
wife. I shall not live long apart from you, for Heaven will 
hear my oft-repeated prayer, and call me soon. We may 
not be happy in each other’s love on earth, but there, Aud- 
ley, there in that home our Saviour has prepared for us, we 
will meet, with no cruel barrier to separate us ’ ’ 

Her sweet voice faltered and broke here, dying away in 
low sobs. 

Audley Vernon was suffering keenly, and men are apt to 
be rude in their pain. He put the clinging arms from about 
him, and, holding her from him, gazed long into her pas- 
sion-stirred face. 


“ Your acts, your words, and your looks tell me that you 
love me. You speak like an angel, and yet you doom me 
to the torture of Hades. What barrier raised by earthly 
hands can be strong enough to separate hearts that love 
truly? Y r ou love me, and I— dear Heaven! I would cherish 
the little flower you crush beneath your feet. I, who once 
could feel delight in the beauties of nature, and dreamt of 
no other love than my art, now see no beauty in the flow- 
ers, no glory in the summer sunshine, and hear no music 
in the bird’s song, if you are not near me. My love, my 
Little Sunshine, think well before you reject me. Remem- 
ber that you kill all the genius in me when you cast me 


off.” 


He paused suddenly; something in the expression of 
Madeline’s face alarmed him. 


His words were killing her ; the trial was almost too great 
for her strength, and her slight form swayed backward 
and forward like a reed in the wind. 

A wild thought had come to her. If she could teach 
Audley to despise her ; if she could make him believe her 
false and unworthy, he would soon cast her out of his 
heart, and she would not then be the means of killing the 
genius in him. 

“God give me strength,” she murmured, and then rose 
slowly to her feet, and dropping her eyes that she might 
not see his face, with its expression of passionate love 
changed to one of contempt and scorn, she said in a slow, 
deliberate tone : 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 1 9 

“ Forget me. I am not worthy of your love. To-morrow 
I shall have pledged myself to another. ’ ’ 

The words were spoken; there was no recalling them. 

No sound had fallen from Audley ’s lips, and Madeline's 
eyes were still turned resolutely away from him. 

She moved a few steps nearer to the door, holding out 
her hands like a blind person groping his way. She had 
almost reached it, with still no word from Audley to detain 
her, when there came over her sight a great darkness ; the 
floor seemed sinking beneath her feet, and without a word 
of warning she fell prostrate across the threshold, merci- 
fully unconscious for the time of her misery. 

The sound of her fall brought Mrs. Vernon and Nettie 
Smith to the spot, and Madeline was raised from the floor 
by the two women, while Audley still sat like one bereft of 
sense, scarcely sensible of his surroundings, hearing noth- 
ing but the words that kept ringing through his tortured 
brain — “ To-morrow I will have pledged myself to another. 1 ’ 


CHAPTER XXI. 

LYDIA ON THE TRACK. 

“ I am so weary, weary, 

I could turn my face to the wall, 

Like a sick child, long before bedtime, 

Drop asleep among you all; 

So glad that lessons are over, 

Still gladder that play is done, 

And a dusky curtain stretches 
Between me and the sun.” 

When Madeline awoke to consciousness she found her- 
self in Nettie Smith’s bed, with Nettie and Mrs. Vernon 
bending anxiously over her. 

The first glance into Mrs. Vernon’s pale face recalled the 
memory of the painful scene through which she had just 
passed, and she turned her face toward the wall, weary of 
life, and praying, as never in all her young life she had 
prayed before, to be taken from this world to the place 
where her father had gone. 

“She sleeps; let us leave her,” Mrs. Vernon whispered, 
and drew Nettie out of the bed-chamber, while Madeline 
kept her eyes closed lest they should question her. At last 
Mrs. Vernon went down to her own apartments, telling 
Nettie to call if she needed her. 

Then Madeline called Nettie to her. 

“Nettie! I want you to find another room, out of this 
house, at once ; to-morrow, Nettie. I do not want to return 
here to-morrow evening; do you understand? Oh, Nettie, 
child ! do not ask me the reason for this sudden whim, but 


£0 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


tell me if you will do as I say ; if not I shall find a place for 
myself to-morrow.” 

Madeline was speaking excitedly, and almost wildly, and 
Nettie at first though her delirious, and would have called 
Mrs. Vernon had not Madeline held her back. 

“Hush, dear! of course I will find another place if you 
desire it. Lie down now, and do not talk any more until 
you are stronger,” said poor Nettie, in the soothing tone 
one would use to quiet a fretful child ; but Madeline would 
not obey her ; she could not lie still ; her nervous system had 
received a shock from which she could not rally at once, and 
in a few moments she was pacing the floor, "wringing her 
hands, and sobbing hysterically. 

It was near midnight when she fell asleep at last, ex- 
hausted by the violence of .her emotions, and she awoke at 
an early hour in the morning, ill and feverish. 

“I shall go to the factory alone, Nettie, while you search 
for a new home for us. Come to me when you have found 
a place to suit, and to-night we will go to it together,” she 
said to her companion, and Nettie promised to follow her 
directions. 

“Good-morning, Lina! Ah, my dear, I wish I knew 
your trouble. I am only a poor, weak girl, but I love you 
dearly, and I might be able to help you,” said Nettie, 
wistfully, as she clasped Madeline’s hand for a moment 
in her own, when the latter was ready to start for the 
factory. 

“ No one but God can help me, dear Nettie — there — do 
not weep for me, child ; you are a great comfort to me, 
Nettie; I should be very lonely if I had not you to cheer 
me. Kiss me now and — and I will try to be happier in our 
new home. ’ ’ 

Nettie kissed the sweet, tremulous lips, and the two gills 
parted, never in life to meet again. 

It seemed to Madeline as if her heart ceased beating as 
she passed the door of Audlev Vernon’s room. 

She paused for a second, straining her ears to catch one 
sound of his voice, but the only sound that came to her 
was the steady tramp of his feet up and down, backward 
and forward, as she had paced the floor of the room above 
the night before. 

4 4 God comfort him ! God bless him ! my love ! my love !” 
she whispered, and then hurried on her way, carrying into 
the workroom of Fell & Hemming way’s factory such a 
white, wan face that kind-hearted Eliza Brown advised her 
to return home and lie down, certain that she must be very 
ill. 

Mr. Hemmingway also noticed and commented upon her 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


81 


altered appearance as he passed through the workroom, 
adding coals to the fire of Lydia Barton's wrath. 

“ Had you not better go home, child? You look scarcely 
able to work,” he said, kindly, to which Madeline replied: 

“ I thank you for your kindness, sir; but I am quite able 
to work. I am not at all ill. ’ ’ 

Mr. Hemmingway bowed and passed on, while Madeline 
applied herself diligently to her work, until the hour drew 
nigh when she was to meet Basil Brandon in Willow Street. 

This was late in the afternoon, and still Nettie had not 
come to report what success she had had in her search for 
a lodging. 

Madeline grew restless and uneasy. 

She could not return to the house where there was a pos- 
sibility of meeting Audley Vernon, after their last sad 
parting. 

She waited until the last moment, hoping Nettie might 
arrive, but the hope proved futile. 

During all this day the sharp eyes of Lydia Barton, and 
the cunning little gray orbs of madame, had watched the 
girl unceasingly, noticing her unusual agitation, and the 
quick uplifting of her eyes every time the workroom door 
opened ; and when at last the clock struck the hour of four, 
and Madeline hastily laid aside her work and signified her 
intention of going home, a significant glance passed between 
the forewoman and her favorite, and all unknown to Made- 
line, Lydia Barton prepared to follow her. 

Madeline was very calm as she wended her way to the 
place of rendezvous. 

She had suffered so much since that painful interview 
with the man she loved, that her heart seemed incapable of 
further suffering. 

Once or twice as she journeyed onward to the place 
appointed for this dreadful meeting she found herself 
wondering why Nettie had not come to her as promised, 
but it never occurred to her that any harm had come to 
the gentle girl, and soon the thought of Nettie was ban- 
ished, giving place to an unspeakable dread of the great 
trial through which she must pass before the sun would set 
upon this day that had been so full of pain. 

Brandon had been long awaiting her when she at last ar- 
rived at the designated place of meeting. 

Her very soul seemed to grow sick within her when she 
caught sight of his dark, sarcastic face as he came forward, 
both hands outstretched to meet her. 

She dropped her own hands to her side with a peculiar 
gesture of loathing. 

Despite the excitement under which she labored at the 


82 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


time, Madeline was struck by something strange in the ex- 
pression of Brandon’s face. 

His eyes were red and blood-shot, the nerves of his face 
quivered strangely, and there was a singular twitching 
of the lips, which were drawn back frequently from the 
sharp, white teeth. 

He possessed himself of one of Madeline’s hands, despite 
her wish to the contrary, and his long fingers wreathing 
themselves about her own, seemed to burn her, they were 
so hot and feverish. 

Even his voice seemed changed as he spoke to her, glanc- 
ing around him sharply, as if he feared some one would 
come to snatch his prize from him. 

“You have come to relieve my mind of the torture of the 
last accursed week. Speak quickly, Madeline — what is 
your answer? Are you willing to be my wife?” 

Madeline determined to make one last appeal to him, and 
her piteous supplications might have moved the hardest 
heart, but it took no such effect upon Basil Brandon, and 
he stamped his foot impatiently upon the pavement as he 
exclaimed : 

‘ 4 Cease, girl ! I will not listen to you ! I do not care 
about your love. I will make you love me when you are 
mine. Think of the consequences if you refuse, and an- 
swer me accordingly. Will you be my wife?” 

“ I will,” she answered, in a tone of voice that startled 
him. 

He thought she was fainting, and drew her arm within 
his own to support her, just as a woman passed close by 
them, and stared insolently into Madeline’s face. 

Their eyes met, but although Madeline recognized Lydia 
Barton, she did not wonder what had brought the girl to 
this spot ; in fact, she was scarcely conscious of her own 
surroundings, but walked along by Brandon’s side without 
a thought as to where he was leading her. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE WORKING-GIRL’S DEATH. 

K Now do I drop my heavy load of woe, 

As some wet mantle saturated with rain, 

And rise as a soft spirit that doth glow 
In rays of light beyond the realm of pain.” 

As Brandon walked along Willow Street with Madeline 
by his side he looked into the girl’s face half-fearfully. 
Every feature was set, and white, as if chiseled in marble, 
and the pretty lips pressed so tightly together that they 
seemed a mere thread. She appeared scarcely conscious of 
his proximity. She did not as yet realize that she had 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


83 


promised to spend the rest of her life with this man, whom 
she actually hated ; the one cry going up from her tortured 
heart was— “ Audley, I have saved you — my love — my 
love!” 

“My darling — my Little Sunshine!” Basil Brandon mur- 
mured, pressing the hand upon his arm until the girl could 
have cried out with pain. 

The sound of the pretty pet name her father had given 
her, coming from the man for whom she had neither re- 
spect nor love, aroused Madeline from the dull apathy into 
which she had fallen. 

‘ ‘ Bo not call me by that name — never speak that name 
again!” she ejaculated, drawing her hand forcibly from his 
arm, and looking almost fiercely into his dark, triumphant 
face. 

“ As you will, my love; there is only one name I care to 
call you — the sweetest of all titles — my wife ; and you have 
consented to bear this name, so I can afford to humor any 
other whim.” 

He laughed gayly as he spoke thus, and once again Made- 
line was struck by something strange in the tone of his 
voice and the glitter of his black eyes. 

She almost feared the man now. The touch of his hand 
burned her, the gleaming eyes seemed to pierce her heart, 
and with a strong shudder of repulsion she drew herself 
further away from him, feeling as if she would go mad if 
forced to endure his presence another moment. 

“Leave ‘me now. I — I must have time to think, and 
—and you will not forget your promise — Audley Vernon 
is ” 

The man beside her uttered an ejaculation of fierce im- 
patience. 

4 ‘ Curse Audley Vernon ! It is of him you are thinking !” 
he began. But something in the expression of Madeline’s 
face checked him, and he added, more quietly : “Of 
course, I will do all I promised for your friend. His book 
shall go before the public, and I can answer for its suc- 
cess ; but remember this, Madeline — from this hour I never 
wish to hear Audley Vernon’s name on your lips. Bo you 
understand me, Madeline Clare?” 

The last words were spoken in such a fierce tone that the 
poor girl recoiled in terror, shrinking and trembling be- 
neath the burning gaze of those strange, glittering eyes. 

“ I understand you thoroughly,” she said, simply, mov- 
ing away from him as if she would continue on her jour- 
ney alone. 

Brandon had no idea of leaving her just yet, however, 
and continued to walk by her side despite her wish to the 
contrary. 


84 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


“You still reside under the same roof that shelters this 
poet, Vernon, I believe; but I shall insist on taking you 
away from his place at once. Nay, do not start and 
tremble. You will be my wife three weeks from now, 
when I will have your new home ready to receive you.” 

“No, no! not so soon! Oh, give me time! For the love 
of Heaven, do not drive me to commit some rash and 
fearful deed!” cried Madeline, excitedly, when Brandon 
paused to look into her face and note the effect of his 
words. 

“Commit some rash and fearful deed,” he repeated, 
with a sneer, and mocking laugh, “Madeline Clare, you 
should be grateful for the offer I have made you. You 
are an outcast from your home, suspected of leaving 
your father’s house for some unworthy motive; your 
guardian shakes his head, and sighs hopelessty when your 
name is mentioned; your stepmother Weeps behind her 
black-bordered handkerchief, and hints of some worth- 
less fellow whom you met at school, and there is not 
one of your fashionable friends who would recognize you 
if they met you face to face, and yet I, a man of wealth 
and high station, offer to make you my wife, and the 
mistress of my home. There are not many who would do 
the same ’ ’ 

“ Hush! I will not listen to you longer,” cried Madeline, 
her pale face flushing crimson, and her lips quivering pite- 
ously. “You offer me a shelter, it is true; but the shelter 
of the grave would be preferable. ’ ’ 

She spoke passionately, and Brandon’s face grew white 
with rage as he listened. 

1 ‘ I will break your haughty spirit, my girl, as sure as 
there is a Heaven above us,” he muttered; but Made- 
line did not hear the words; there was a sound in her 
ears like the rush of waters, and a red mist before her 
eyes. 

Before she realized whither her steps were tending she 
found herself before the door of Audley Vernon’s house. 

“ I— I am not going in; I must find Nettie,” she stam- 
mered, and would have turned away, but the voice of 
Audley A r ernon at this moment fell upon her ear, and 
seemed to render her incapable of motion, while Vernon 
appeared to be scarcely less affected by the sight of her 
pale face. 

“ Mr. Brandon!” he ejaculated, “I was starting to go to 
your office ” 

“ Ah! fortunate that I met you. my dear Vernon; I had 
almost forgotten our appointment, but it will be all right, 1 
owe you a debt that I am anxious to repay. This young 
lady is my promised wife, and you were more than kind 


LITTLE "SUNSHINE. 


85 


to her when you found her, ill and a stranger. I recog- 
nized her when I first heard her voice in your mother’s 
chamber; but I knew she had good and sufficient reasons 
for leaving her home and concealing her identity, and so I 
preserved silence in regard to her. There is no longer need 
for this, however, since she is to be my wife in three weeks’ 
time. ’ ’ 

He glanced triumphantly toward Madeline as he spoke, 
and Madeline in her turn raised her heavy eyes to the 
countenance of Audley Vernon. 

Until death blotted from her brain the memory of all 
earthly things, she never forgot the look she saw upon that 
beloved face. 

It seemed to reproach her, as no spoken words could have 
done, for the suffering she had caused him, and the decep- 
tion she had practiced toward him, for Brandon’s words, of 
course, led Audley to suppose that Madeline had willfully 
deceived him. 

“Perhaps it is best so, this blow will kill his love, he 
will scorn and despise me — oh, dear Heaven ! how shall I 
bear it!” 

This was the cry that went up from Madeline’s full heart, 
but her lips gave forth no sound. She inclined her head to 
the two men in the doorway, and passed them, going up- 
stairs to the rooms she had occupied with Nettie ; but the 
door was locked ; Nettie had not returned. 

Madeline sank wearily down on the steps outside the 
door, to collect her wandering thoughts. 

Where should she find Nettie? It would be impossible 
for her to remain beneath the same roof with Audley 
Vernon that night; the air of the house seemed to stifle 
her. 

She bowed her face in her hands and gave herself up to 
her bitter thoughts, until aroused by one of the tenants 
from the floor above. 

Then it occurred to her that she must seek for Nettie, 
poor little Nettie, who was her only friend. 

She started from the house Avith the vague notion that 
Nettie would be waiting her at the factory, but when she 
reached the street she saw that darkness was setting down 
over the earth, and the factory closed hours before. 

She kept walking onward aimlessly, her brain as yet in- 
capable of following out any connected train of thought, 
until at last she found herself in the midst of a group of 
men all engaged in loud and excited argument. 

“I tell you it was a cryin’ shame the way that ere po- 
liceman handled that poor gal. Anybody could lia 9 seen 
with half an eye that she wasn’t one o’ the common sort. 
I’ll never forget the way she looked at him with those big 


86 


little sunshine. 


blue eyes o’ hor\n, poor gal! maybe some poor mother’s 
a-lookin’ and’ a-watchin’ for her return to-night ” 

The voice of Madeline Clare broke in upon the man’s in- 
dignant protest. 

“ Oh, sir, please, please, tell me of whom you are speak- 
ing. Who and what was this blue-eyed girl? Tell me 
about it; oh, please, good man, tell me all.” 

The group of men moved back respectfully as Madeline 
made her way to the side of the man she addressed, moved 
by an involuntary feeling of admiration and homage, and 
recognizing the lady at a glance. 

The man who had spoken so feelingly of the girl whom 
the policeman had ill-treated, blushed to the roots of his 
red hair, and touched his hat with rude politeness, as he 
cleared his throat to answer Madeline's question. 

“Weil, miss, I hope you’re no relation to the gal as I 
was a- talkin’ of. I can’t tell you much about her, miss, 
only that Officer Donnelly found her a-lyin’ on that stoop 
over yonder, with blood on her clothes, and a-flowin’ from 
her mouth. She’s a pretty little thing, with blue eyes an’ 
dark hair, an’ she had on a calico frock 1 ’ 

Madeline interrupted him with a low, horrified cry. 
“ Oh, it is Nettie! I knew it was poor little Nettie! Is she 
dead? Oh, what is it? Take me to her! Oh, good man, 
take me to my poor little friend.” 

At this moment a policeman came along, and attracted 
by the sound of Madeline’s excited voice inquired the mean- 
ing of the scene. 

He was told in a few brief words, and to him Madeline 
now made her appeal to be taken to Nettie. 

The officer looked on her for a moment without replying, 
and then, as if favorably impressed by her appearance, 
said kindly : 

‘ ‘ I am on my way to the station-house to which the girl 
was carried ; you may come with me if you desire to do 
so ; make haste or they will have taken the body to the 
morgue.” 

Madeline shuddered as these last words fell on her ears, 
and hurried along briskly by the policeman’s side until 
they reached the station-house, half a dozen blocks dis- 
tant. 

As she came in sight of this place Madeline’s strength 
threatened to desert her. 

The huge lamp before the door of the station multiplied 
itself into a thousand monstrous green eyes that seemed to 
glare at her and mock at her misery. 

She was obliged to clutch the officer’s arm to keep her 
self from falling, but she recovered herself by a mighty 
effort, and in another moment found herself in the pres- 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


87 


ence of the police captain, who spoke a few kind words to 
her, asked her a few questions, the nature of which she 
could never afterward have explained, and then she was 
led into an adjoining room, where a silent form reposed 
on a long wooden -bench, covered with a piece of rough 
sail cloth. 

As Madeline approached this bench, the officer who had 
led her thither threw back the rude covering from the face 
of the dead, revealing the pallid, marble -like features of 
poor little Nettie Smith. 

Madeline knelt beside the corpse without a word or 
cry. 

She remembered all Nettie’s goodness, and meek and 
gentle ways ; she thought of the manner in which they had 
parted that morning. 

She could feel the pressure of Nettie’s lips and the clasp 
of Nettie’s hand still in her own, and yet the memory 
brought no tears. 

She touched the icy face reverently, and smoothed back 
the soft brown hair from the marble forehead. 

“Little Nettie, little Nettie, would to God I could change 
places with you !’ ’ she whispered. Then raising her dry, 
aching eyes to the face of the policeman, she inquired : 

“How was it? Will you tell me how she died?” 

The officer, the same Donnelly who had carried Nettie 
into the station, and whose stony heart was not even 
moved by the sight of Madeline’s mute anguish, answered, 
gruffly : 

“There ain’t much to tell, miss. I found her a-lyin’ on 
a stoop with her face hid from me, and thinkin’ she was 
drunk, I jest fetched her here as the rest of them are 
fetched, and then the doctor pronounced it a case of hem- 
orrhage, and reprimanded me for carelessness. She 
wasn’t dead when we got here; she was a-mutterin’ 
some names that sounded like ‘Lena,’ and ‘x\udley.’ It 
seemed from her mutterings as if she’d been a-searchin’ 
for a lodgin’ place, and fell from fatigue. The woman on 
whose stoop I found her says as how she heard somebody 
coughing dreadful hard, but didn’t pay any heed to it. 
It’s likely that was when the gal burst the blood vessel, 
you know. She’s a friend of yours, I suppose, miss, an’ I 
am sorry I wasn’t a little more gentle like with her, but 
you see we handle so many cases of drunken women that 
we get hardened and think they’re all alike.” 

It is doubtful whether Madeline heard one half of what 
the policeman was saying to her. 

She was thinking of Nettie, dying with her name 
(Madeline’s) upon her lips, coupled with that of Audley 
Vernon. 


88 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


“She too ioved Audley Vernon!” was the thought that 
darted through her brain, as many little words and. acts of 
Nettie’s came before her with a new significance. 

“She loved him! Ah, darling little Nettie! it was better 
that you should die than live to nurse this secret of a hope- 
less love. V 

The kind voice of the police captain, who at this moment 
entered the room, recalled Madeline to a sense of her sur- 
roundings. 

“ Do you recognize the body?” he asked, and with a chok- 
ing sob in her throat, Madeline replied : 

“I recognize the body. It is that of Nettie Smith, a 
working-girl, and my friend and room-mate.” 

‘ ‘ Do you wish her remains sent to her late home, or bur- 
ied at the expense of the city?” asked the captain, and 
Madeline answered promptly : 

“ To her home, of course. I will defray all necessary ex- 
penses.” 

The captain bowed, marked down the address she gave 
him, and walked away, while Madeline bent for a moment 
over all that remained of poor Nettie, kissed the silent lips, 
and tenderly replaced the covering over the poor, dead 
face. 

A few moments later and she found herself in the street, 
hurrying away from the station-house, bent on an errand 
of love and charity 

She had promised to bury poor little Nettie, and as her 
pocket-book contained something less than five dollars, 
there was only one way of redeeming her promise, and 
that was by disposing of her diamond ring — her dear, dead 
father’s gift — the sole relic of those happy days gone for- 
ever. 

It almost broke her heart to part with it, but she could 
not let the little friend who had been so kind to her be laid 
away in a pauper’s grave, and so she pressed to her lips 
the ring made sacred by her father’s touch, and started 
forth on her errand. 

It was now some time after nine o'clock, and the girl 
was unaccustomed to being in the street at night alone. 

She hurried along without looking around her, in search 
of some jewelry establishment where she might venture to 
offer her treasure, and thus unconsciously turned into 
Pierrepont Street, and passed the home of Leone Delmore. 

She did not think of Leone as she hurried past the brill- 
iantly lighted mansion, but the sweet strains of familiar 
music wafted to her ears recalled the memory of other 
days, and her eyes shone through a blinding mist of tears 
when at last she presented her ring to the proprietor of a 
store only a few blocks distant from Leon’s home. 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


89 


A bargain was soon made. The ring was sold for about 
one-sixth of its original value, and Madeline turned her 
face once more toward the house she had hoped nevermore 
to enter. 

When, in after years, she looked back to this hour, 
Madeline believed "that the excitement of Nettie’s sudden 
death, and the necessity for action arising from this event, 
alone saved her from madness. 

She was quite cool and calm when at last she reached 
the rooms poor Nettie had called her home, and went to 
work at once to prepare them for the reception of the 
remains. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE NEGRO’S TRIAL. 

14 Ob, faith, how beautiful thou art! 

Like some pure, snowy-breasted dove, 

Nested within the rudest heart, 

Ye filled its softest pulse with love.” 

W'hen the chorus of rude voices greeted the negro Sam’s 
entrance into the chop-house, he realized at once that he 
was in the midst of a crowd of desperate characters, but he 
was wise enough to pretend innocence, and meet their de- 
mands for “a treat ” without a murmur beyond the asser- 
tion that he had only one dollar in the world, which he was 
quite willing to share with them, or rather spend with them 
as far as it went. 

The ruffians immediately surrounded him, laughing and 
taunting him in the hope that he would give them some 
excuse for abuse, but poor Sam received all their jeers 
good-humoredly, although in his heart he feared them, and 
longed to escape, as in his early days he longed for free- 
dom, that blessed boon that had at last been purchased for 
him by the master he mourned so sincerely. 

His faithful heart was beating with quick, muffled 
throbs beneath the precious papers concealed in his breast, 
and more than once his eyes turned toward the doorway, 
with an anxious, wistful look that was not lost on the men 
who pressed around him. 

While they glanced into each other’s faces, as if to decide 
which of them should first provoke a quarrel with the un- 
offending negro, for the purpose of robbing him of what- 
ever he might have on his person w T orth appropriating, 
there was the sound of hurrying footsteps outside the street 
door, clubs striking on the pavement, and other sounds that 
would indicate the approach of the police. 

A frightful volley of oaths burst from the vile lips of the 
ruffian who stood nearest Sam, and before the latter could 


90 LITTLE SUNSHINE. 

move a step his bundle was snatched from him, and tram- 
pled under foot. 

‘‘Curse on the ‘cops!’ they are down upon us; work 
quick, Mike, or we are lost!” cried another of the gang, 
and at the same moment Sam, who had been almost 
stunned by a cruel blow on the head, found his bundle 
thrust again into liis hands, and himself thrust out into 
the street, just as the police reached the door of the chop- 
house. 

“ Stop the nigger! he’s one of the thieves we’re after,” 
shouted one of the officers, and poor Sam found himself 
roughly handled, while he tried in vain- -bewildered and 
half-stunned as he was — to explain who and what he was, 
and how he had been treated. 

Of course they laughed his explanation to scorn, and 
dragging his bundle from him, emptied its contents out on 
the pavement, first asking, mockingly : 

“ What have you got in this ’ere valise, Pompey ?” 

“Please, massa, it am only some w’ite clothes — for — 
for ’ ’ 

“ Clothes ! why, you bold rascal, what kind of clothes do 
you call these?” cried the officer, sneeringly, and Sam for 
the first time cast his eyes on the contents of the bundle so 
cunningly substituted for his own. 

As he could see at a glance, the paper in which he had 
carried his own bundle had been wrapped about one evi- 
dently containing the fruits of a robbery. 

Chains, jeweled rings, bracelets, and jewelry of every 
description had fallen from the cloth in which they had 
been folded, together with some curious instruments or 
tools used by burglars and housebreakers. 

\ He understood the plot at once. He would be accused of 
| this robbery, and thrown into prison. 

® Involuntarily his hand went up to his bosom, where the 
* papers he valued more highly than his life were hidden. 

The simple action was noticed by the policeman who had 
him in charge, a rough, pitiless fellow, who delighted in his 
authority, and lost no opportunity of — as his comrades ex- 
pressed it — crowing over the unfortunate wretches who 
chanced to fall in his power. 

“This isn’t all, the nigger’s got somethin’ more hidden 
under his shirt: let’s see what it is, boys,” and with these 
words the officer was in the act of tearing open Sam’s shirt, 
but at this moment the other policemen came out from the 
chop-house, leading between them two of the ruffians who 
had played the dangerous game on poor Sam. 

“ Dem’s de men wot done gone change my bundle, massa. 
Oh, b’lieve me, sirs, dis am all a made up plan to make me 
suffer for de crime of dese bad men,” protested Sam, but 


LITTLE SUE SHINE. 


91 


his words were greeted with shouts of derisive laughter, 
and no further heed taken of them. 

The poor negro glanced with looks of mute appeal into 
the faces of the guilty men, but they were smiling defiantly, 
knowing that there was no proof against them. 

The robbery of the jewelry store had been tracked to that 
chop-house, and Sam had been in the act of carrying away 
the booty w T hen arrested. 

He was immediately conveyed to the lock-up, where he 
was confined for the night, and early on the following 
morning taken before the justice, charged with house- 
breaking and grand larceny. 

The order was given to search his person, and then, in- 
deed poor Sam had every appearance of guilt. 

His face took on that strange, grayish pallor peculiar to 
the African race ; his limbs actually trembled under him, 
and, losing all control of himself, he threw himself on his 
knees before the judge, pleading to be allowed to keep the 
precious papers hidden in his breast. 

“See, massa judge! dey is on’y papers ob no interest to 
anybody but— but ” 

“ But whom, Sam? Speak up, Sam; no one will prevent 
you. Let me see the papers,” said the judge, kindly, fa- 
vorably impressed by something in Sam’s manner. 

With trembling hands and heaving chest Sam delivered 
the papers to the judge, standing with head bowed on his 
breast while the latter glanced over them with an ex- 
pression of surprise, almost amounting to bewilderment, 
on his face. 

“ Do you tell me that you were in this gentleman’s serv- 
ice for fifteen years?” he asked, tapping the paper he held 
in his hand. 

“ Yes, massa, for fifteen years,” repeated Sam, earnestly, 
upon which the judge handed the papers back to him with 
the remark : 

“It is none of my business to inquire how these pa- 
pers came into your possession ; they do not bear upon the 
case in hand. Take them, and I sincerely hope you may 
be able to prove yourself innocent of the charge here made 
against you.” 

“Oh, bress you, massa; bress you for those kind words. 
I am innocent, an’ de good Lord will not let his poor ole 
servant suffer in de wrong. I know it; I feel it; de Lord 
will deliver me out o’ dis fiery furnace, glory to His name.” 

Sam’s black face was lifted toward heaven, his hands 
clasped in an attitude of prayer, and tears rolled down his 
cheeks like rain. 

There were rough men in that courtroom who turned 


92 LITTLE SUNSHINE . 

away to hide the tears that had sprung to their eyes at 
sight of the old negro at that moment. 

The judge cleared his throat two or three times, but his 
voice sounded harsh and altered when he spoke again. 
Perhaps he was ashamed of his momentary betrayal of 
weakness. 

The trial of Sam Harris was the first on the calender, 
and despite the judge’s belief in Sam’s innocence, the evi- 
dence was fearfully strong against him, and the end of it 
all was Sam’s commitment to prison with hard labor for 
one year. 

Poor Sam listened to this sentence without a word of 
protest, but such a look of despair crept over his face as 
would have touched the hardest heart., 

His faith in God’s justice was so strong that he had 
fondly believed his earnest prayers would win him the 
freedom he craved, and the words of the sentence struck 
on his faithful heart like cruel blows. 

“ Little missy, may de good Lord take care ob you now,” 
he whimpered, with his hand pressed tightly over the 
papers the judge had handed back to him. 

There was one who had watched all the proceedings in- 
tently, and appeared to be deeply interested while the 
judge was examining Sam’s treasured papers. 

This person was Davis, the burly policeman who had 
arrested Sam the night before. 

“I’m goin’ to have a peep at them ’ere papers. There’s 
some secret connected with them, an’ like as not there’s 
money in it. I’ll have a finger in the pie if I have to si- 
lence the old darky to get at the papers he’s so careful of,” 
muttered Davis, while, as if fate favored his evil designs, 
the judge commanded him to conduct Sam back to the cell 
in which he had passed the night, as he could not well be 
removed to Blackwell’s Island until the morrow. 

“ Now is my chance, ” thought the villain, as he took poor 
Sam’s arm to conduct him below. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

LYDIA BARTON AND LAURA VERETON. 

u A goodly apple rotten at the heart, 

Oh, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!” 

Merchant of Venice. 

It will be remembered that while Madeline Clare and 
Basil Brandon were in conversation in Willow Street, Lydia 
Barton passed them, so closely that she could look into 
their faces and hear their voices. 

She kept quite close to them as long as she could do so 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


93 


without attracting attention, and heard much that passed 
between them. 

Her black eyes glowed like stars, and her face flushed 
with a look of triumph under the thick folds of the veil she 
wore. 

At last she had found a means of repaying Lina Clark for 
the humiliation she (Lydia) had been forced to endure, and 
of which Lina had been the innocent cause. 

Her name, Madeline Clare, passed the lips of Brandon 
several times during the course of their conversation, and 
Lydia treasured it in her memory. 

“Won’t she start and flash on me a frightened look 
from those soft brown eyes of hers when I call her by her 
real name, Madeline Clare? She’s an outcast from her 
home, hey ! suspected of running away with some fellow 
she met at school, ha ! ha ! won’t madame be delighted when 
I bring her the news ; and Oscar Hemmingway — I wonder 
if he will cast such tender glances on her when he learns 
w’hat an impostor she is? Fate must favor me greatly, for 
no one ever did me a mean turn that I didn’t find a chance 
to repay them tenfold.” 

With such thoughts as these running through her brain, 
Lydia Barton wended her way homeward, it being too late 
to impart her news to madame until the following day. 

Lydia’s mother was a seamstress, and among her cus- 
tomers was Laura Yereton, a lady whom Lydia had never 
met, as Mrs. Barton herself carried her work to and from 
the homes of her customers ; but on this particular even- 
ing Mrs. Barton was suffering from rheumatism and begged 
her daughter- to carry over some articles of wearing ap- 
parel that had been promised faithfully to Miss Yereton 
that night. 

“Do take it for me, Lydia. Miss Yereton does not like 
to be disappointed, and I fear she would be angry enough 
to take the work from me altogether,” said Mrs. Barton, 
while Lydia tossed her head and declared she would not 
be an errand girl, but at last consented to go for the rea- 
son that her errand would take her past the residence of 
madame, to whom she might impart the information ob- 
tained by spying on the movements of the new hand, Lina 
Clark. 

Accordingly, she started for the home of Laura Yereton. 

That young lady chanced to be at home, and ordered the 
servant to show the seamstress into her sitting-room. 

Lydia was dazzled by the beauty of her surroundings, 
and while she waited in a little reception-room while the 
servant went to announce her, she gazed at every article 
in the room, as if her eyes could never get their fill of its 
beauties, 


94 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


“ Miss Yereton says for you to come up-stairs, miss,” said 
the servant, from the doorway, at last, and Lydia arose al- 
most reluctantly to obey the summons, casting one linger- 
ing glance around her. 

Suddenly she started as if some one had struck her a 
blow, and grasped the arm of the astonished domestic. 

“ That picture ! who is it? whom does it represent?” she 
asked, breathlessly, pointing to a full length oil-painting 
on the opposite wall, and slightly shaking the servant’s 
arm in her intense excitement. 

“That — that is Miss Madeline, the master’s daughter,” 
replied the servant, for something in the expression of her 
black eyes compelled an answer. 

“ The master’s daughter,” she repeated, in a tone of per- 
plexity, as she followed the man up-stairs, and was ushered 
into the presence of Laura Vereton. 

For a moment the two girls looked into each other’s faces 
without speaking, and then Laura haughtily indicated a 
chair, and waited for Lydia to deliver the work with which 
she had been sent. 

There was something so cool and contemptuous in Laura’s 
manner that the dark face of the working-girl flushed an- 
grily, and she mentally vowed to humble the pride of the 
former, if it ever lay in her power to do so. The oppor- 
tunity was not long wanting. 


CHAPTER XXV. 
leone’s choice. 

u Oh, what was love made for, if ’tis not the same 

Thro’ joy and thro’ torment, thro’ glory and shame, 
****** * 

Thro’ the furnace unshrinking thy steps to pursue, 

And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there, too?” 

Moore. 

The face of Dr. Percy Townley was dark with fierce and 
evil passions while he stood gazing down upon Leone Del- 
more and her cousin, Arthur Lee. 

“Were you aware that this lady was my promised 
wife?” he asked, with chilling hauteur, and, although a 
look of unfeigned regret overswept the countenance of 
Arthur Lee, he held out his hand to Townley, saying, 
heartily : 

‘ 1 1 congratulate you, sir ; my cousin is a treasure well 
worth winning. ’ ’ 

The doctor merely touched the outstretched hand and 
bowed haughtily, then turning toward Leone, with an 
air of authority and proprietorship that sent the hot blood 
rushing like a torrent over her fair, proud face, he said, 
coldly; 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


93 


‘ ‘ Come, Leone, I wish to speak with yon alone. ’ ’ 

For a moment it seemed as if Leone was about to rebel 
against this premature assumption of authority. Her eyes 
flashed angrily ; she drew herself out of the reach of his 
hand, and opened her lips to protest against his imperative 
and offensive manner, when some sudden memory darted 
across her brain ; the color faded from her cheek, the angry 
light died slowly out of her beautiful eyes, and she accepted 
Townley’s arm without a word, and allowed him to lead 
her out of the conservatory. 

Arthur Lee looked after them until they were no longer 
in view, and then sunk down upon the seat from which 
Leone had arisen, sighing heavily. 

He had always ridiculed the idea of love at first sight, 
but now the consciousness dawned upon him that this 
royally beautiful woman — the sister and companion whom 
he had left a child ten years before — was unutterably dear 
to him. 

if he had found her happy and beloved, he would not 
have allowed his mind to dwell upon her for a moment, but 
it seemed as if her heart had been revealed to him during 
the brief period of their intercourse, and he saw her — not 
as the brilliant and courted belle of society ; he was enabled 
to look beyond the mask she wore, and see her as she was 
— a passionate, warm-hearted woman, and one who suffered 
some secret sorrow. 

‘ 1 They would force her into a marriage with this cold, 
stern-looking man. Ah, Leone ! Leone ! I must save you, 
my beautiful one!” Arthur murmured, so earnestly that 
Percy Townley would not have felt quite so secure in the 
possession of his treasure could he have heard the words 
and seen the expression of Arthur's face while they were 
passing his lips. 

“Why, Arthur, what are you doing here alone? I have 
been searching everywhere for you. They "want you to 
favor them with a song. Pauls has been entertaining them 
with some of his grandest music, and a rare treat it was, I 
must confess. ’ ’ 

The speaker was Ralph Delmore, and his voice startled 
his nephew from the reverie into which the latter had 
fallen. 

Arthur arose and accompanied his uncle into the crowded 
parlors, unconscious of the many eyes that followed him in 
his passage to the piano, admiring the fair, Saxon beauty 
of his face, and commenting on his proud and kingly bear- 
ing. 

One quick, comprehensive glance around the rooms 
showed Arthur that Leone was not among the brilliant 
throng, and he seated himself before the grand instrument 


96 LITTLE SUNSHINE. 

with the air of one whose heart is not in the work before 
him. 

Some one requested him to sing “The Heart Bowed 
Down,” and he unhesitatingly complied, his clear, rich, 
powerful tenor voice filling the rooms with a melody so 
sweet and thrilling that his audience seemed to hold their 
breath to listen. 

He was a true artist, and while he sang his handsome 
face kindled, and his eyes glowed with a strange, intense 
luster. 

His splendid voice, softened and subdued by distance, 
was borne to the ears of Leone Delmore as she stood before 
the man whose wife she had promised to be, in a little re- 
ception-room opposite the parlors. 

She could never explain why it was, but that voice 
seemed to stir her heart to its inmost core, and, unable to 
hide her emotion, she burst into tears, sobbing as if her 
very heart would break, while Percy Townley stood over 
her, scowling darkly, understanding the cause of this un- 
usual exhibition of feeling on the part of his haughty, 
cold-hearted fiancee. 

The music ceased at last and Leone knew that Arthur 
had arisen from the piano. 

She made a mighty effort to control her emotion and 
ventured to raise her eyes to the face of her companion. 

He was gazing straight into her face, with a sneering, 
disagreeable smile on his lips, and angry, gleaming eyes. 

“ Your cousin's singing appears to affect you strangely. 
He makes his living by singing for the public, I under- 
stand. Was he specially engaged to sing for us this even- 
ing?” 

The contemptuous tone in which this question was 
asked, more than the words themselves, roused all the 
worst passions in Leone’s nature. 

She drew her queenly form to its fullest height, and with 
her proud head thrown back, and her arms folded on her 
breast, returned his impudent stare undaunted. 

“You are no gentleman, Percy Townley! And let the 
result be what it will— the consequences what they may — 
I will never be your wife ! Better a life of poverty, ay, 
better a suicide’s grave, than life with you. Go to Ralph 
Delmore, if you will, tell him that I refuse to be yours; 
that I will go from his house to-morrow.” 

Townley interrupted her with a mocking laugh, and be- 
fore she could move out of his reach he had caught her 
arm in a grasp that made her cry out with pain. 

“ You will do nothing of the kind. You will let things 
be just as they are. You do not fear death or poverty, you 
say, but could you bear to have your true history canvassed 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


97 


among the people in these parlors to-night? Would you 
care to see the people among whom you now reign a very 
queen, draw their skirts away, lest your touch should soil 
them? You have been so proud- -you have held your head 
higher than any lady in our land ; could you bear to be an 
object of pity and coritempt? You say you would prefer a 
suicide’s grave to life with me. Would that save your 
name from degradation? You kneel in prayer to the God 
who is to judge you ; you believe there is a God, and you 
fear him too much to risk incurring his wrath by the com- 
mission of a deed for which there is no forgiveness. Ah, 
no, Leone ; I am not in the least afraid of your ending your 
life, and as for your threat of leaving Ralph Delmore’s pro- 
tection— pshaw ! Where would you go? What would you 
do? What door would open to receive you, knowing the 
truth f Perhaps you think this man you call your cousin 
would put forth a hand to raise you out of the depths of 
misery and degradation into which you would thus rashly 
cast yourself ; but you would soon discover your mistake. 
Arthur Lee is only an opera-singer, it is true, but he is a 
proud fellow; think you he would have aught to say 
to ” 

Leone uttered a faint but heartrending cry, and covered 
her face with her trembling hands, while Townley bent 
closer to her, and finished his sentence in a low, disagree- 
able voice, with new r a suspicion that the words would be 
overheard by other ears than those fqr which they were 
intended. A few moments later and Dr. Townley joined 
the guests in the parlors, and seeking out Ralph Delmore, 
requested that gentleman to excuse Leone’s absence as best 
he could to the company, as she was really too ill to put in 
her appearance again that evening. In the meanwhile 
where was Leone? Could they have seen her — the beauti- 
ful, brilliant belle, in whose honor they were assembled, 
lying face downward on a couch in the room in which 
Townley had left her, making no moan or outcry, but suf- 
fering as few women have ever suffered ! 

She could never tell how long she had lain in this posi- 
tion, when the sound of her own name, spoken close be- 
side her, caused her to look up suddenly. 

Arthur Lee stood before her. His face was pale as the 
dead ; his lips compressed, as if in the effort to restrain some 
violent emotion, and great drops of perspiration stood out 
like beads on his forehead. 

Leone sprung to her feet with a low cry, and would have 
fled from the room had he not detained her. There was a 
strange, hunted look in her eyes, and the proud head was 
bowed as if in shame. 


98 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


“ What have you heard?’ ’ she managed to articulate, and 
after a moment’s pause he succeeded in replying: 

k 4 I have heard all, Leone, every word uttered by Percy 
Townley. I came into the adjoining room in search of 
Mrs. Delmore, and, not finding her, was about to retrace 
my steps, when the first words uttered by Percy Townley 
chained me to the spot. Oh, Leone! Leone! what a ” 

“Hush! Do not reproach me. I will go away. I de- 
serve all the scorn and contempt you might heap upon my 
guilty head, but I have suffered ! — oh, my God \—hoiv I have 
suffered ! As you are strong, be merciful, and do not torture 
me!” 

Leone had thrown herself on her knees at his feet, with 
her hands clasped in an agony of supplication. Her beau- 
tiful hair, loosened from its fastenings, fell in waving, 
night-black masses to her waist, and her eyes, dry and 
burning, outshone the diamonds sparkling on her white 
neck and arms. She had never looked so lovely in her 
happiest moments, and to see her thus, bowed to the earth 
in humiliation and shame, was almost more than Arthur 
Lee could endure. He put both hands over his face to shut 
out the sight, and, misinterpreting the action, Leone cried, 
passionately : 

“ You draw your hands away lest I should touch them! 
You have no pity ” 

He would not let her proceed further, but, obeying the 
impulse of pity that moved him at that moment, he 
stretched out his arms and raised her from the floor. 

“ You wrong me, Leone,” he said, softly. “Look into 
my eyes and see if they express contempt or scorn. Poor 
child ! poor, proud, misguided girl, you have deeply sinned 
in allowing yourself to be made a party to this gross de- 
ception, but you have suffered enough to atone for all. 
Leone, in the years that are gone I was a lonely, melan- 
choly youth until the love of a little child brightened my 
dreary path, and helped to lift the clouds from off my 
heart. I loved the passionate, quick- tempered little creat- 
ure with an affection that was never forgotten. The mem- 
ory of her pretty, caressing way and gay, childish prattle 
recurred to me wherever I wandered, under the blue skies 
of Italy, in the vineyards of Spain, and the picturesque 
Swiss hamlets Avhere so many days of my life have been 
spent during the last five years. I returned to my native 
land with many tender thoughts of my child- love in my 
heart. I found her in you, Leone, but how greatly changed. 
Beautiful, brilliant and courted, and apparently happy. 
Leone, you will scarcely understand what I am about to 
say to you, but it is nevertheless true. 

“I love the child I parted from nine years ago, with a 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


99 


brother's tender affection: I love the woman I met on my 
return, with the deepest and truest love man can lay at 
woman's feet. During our brief conversation in the con- 
servatory to-night your secret was revealed to me. You 
did not love Percy Townley, although you had promised to 
be his wife. I made a mental vow that I would save you 
from the misery of an unhappy marriage if it was in my 
power to do so. Fate sent me to this room that I might 
learn the details of the plot in which you, poor child, were 
forced to play so sad a part. Ralph Delmore is my 
dead mother’s brother, and I dare not judge him, but I 
cannot breathe freely beneath his roof since I have learned 
his true character. I shall go away at once, and, Leone, 
poor child — I have not much to offer you— i am a wander- 
ing Bohemian, singing for a living, as Townley truly said, 
on the public stage, but if you will share my hujnble lot, if 
you will accept the protection of my name, Leone, you 
shall never regret your choice. It shall be my task to sur - 
round your path with every comfort I can provide. Will 
you come with me, Leone? will you be my wife? They may 
do their worst then, they cannot harm you ; my arm will 
be strong to protect you ; my home, though humble, will 
be a safe haven. Lift your eyes to mine, Leone, that I may 
read in them my answer.” 

During all the time that Arthur had been speaking, 
Leone had stood before him with elapsed hands and 
drooped head listening like one in a dream, but scarcely 
comprehending the meaning of the words addressed to 
her. 

She raised her face quickly as he uttered the last words, 
but the wild look in her eyes alarmed him. 

“ You said you had heard all!” she exclaimed, adding 
with a bitter, reckless laugh, “You have not spoken the 
truth, Arthur Lee, you would not ask me to marry you if 
you had heard him call me the child of a ” 

“Hush! do not speak the word,” interrupted Arthur, 
while his face grew even paler than it had been, and his 
hands clinched themselves as if he were grasping the throat 
of an enemy. “Do not speak the word,” he repeated. “ I 
did hear it, Leone, and yet I repeat the offer I made you a 
moment ago. I ask you to be my wife.” 

These words seemed to stir the girl’s heart to its inmost 
depths. 

She sank on her knees again before him, and dropped her 
face on his hands, clasped in both her own. 

“Noble, generous man! I cannot accept the sacrifice 
you would make for me. It is pity prompts you to speak 
as you have done. You would live to curse this hour if I 
were weak enough to listen to you. I will not listen. Oh, 


100 


LITTLE SUNSHINE 


Arthur, leave me! Do not tempt me further. I am so 
weak, so pitifully weak; do not, by prolonging my torture, 
make my burden heavier to bear. ’ 1 

Leone's voice faltered and broke now, and in a moment 
she was sobbing convulsively. 

Arthur lifted her tenderly, and held her in his arms, as 
he said, gravely : 

“ Leone, it is not pity, it is love that prompts my words 
and actions. You are more dear to me than any other 
woman can ever be. I will teach you to love me in return, 
and w r e shall be happy in some distant land, where the past 
will be buried out of sight, and ” 

At this moment the door leading from the halhvay was 
thrown open, and Ealpli Delmore, accompanied by Percy 
Townley, appeared upon the scene. 

It would be a task beyond my power to describe the ex- 
pression on the different faces of the actors [in that little 
drama during the first moment after their unexpected en 
trance. 

Leone sprung out of Arthur’s embrace and sank, weak 
and trembling, into the nearest chair. 

Arthur folded his arms on his breast and stood proudly 
erect, waiting to make any explanation demanded of him. 

Ealph Delmore was the first to break the awkward and 
embarrassing silence. 

“Arthur Lee! what is the meaning of this? Why do I 
find yonder girl in your arms? — this gentleman’s promised 
wife. What have you to say for yourself?” 

He spoke in an angry, blustering voice, approaching 
Arthur, threateningly, as if hoping to intimidate him ; but 
Arthur stood his ground, and there was more of sorrow 
than of anger in his voice, when he replied : 

‘ ‘ Uncle Ealph, you demand an explanation of the scene 
you have just witnessed, and you shall have it. That gen- 
tleman ,” with a contemptuous toss of the head in the 
direction of Dr. Townley — ‘ ‘ that gentleman had succeeded 
in wringing from Leone a promise to be his wife, by means 
of cowardly threats, and with your consent. Not content 
with this he presumed to control her actions and act toward 
her as if she were his ” 

“Slave, ” he was about to add, but for some reason he left 
the word unspoken, involuntarily glancing toward Leone, 
who was now listening intently. 

“ As if I were his slave, ’ ’ she said, in a low, strange voice, 
completing Arthur’s unfinished sentence. 

After a brief pause, Arthur resumed : 

“ Unable to endure his persecutions, Leone threatened to 
put an end to her life rather than keep the promise she had 
made him. Then it was that Percy Townley showed him- 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


101 


self in his true colors. He taunted her with the power he 
held over her, and in his excitement spoke in a tone loud 
enough to reach my ears in the adjoining room. I need 
not repeat his words to you ; enough that they revealed 
your guilty secret, Uncle Ralph, and taught me how false 
and hollow was your life. ’ ’ 

At this point Percy Townley interrupted Arthur, speak 
ing with an ugly, sneering smile on his lips, a smile assumed 
to cover the guilty fear Arthur’s words had called to life 
in his heart. 

“Granting all you have said to be true, Arthur Lee, 
what are you going to do about it? Leone accepted me 
without compulsion, and here, in your presence, 1 ask her 
to renew her vow. Leone, what is your answer. Will you 
brave the world’s scorn and contumely, or escape it by the 
only road open to you?” 

His glittering eyes were fixed intently on her face, and 
he bent so closely over her that his hot breath lifted the 
soft hair from her forehead. 

She ventured to look beyond him, to the place where 
Arthur stood, and something in the expression of the lat- 
ter’s eyes gave her courage. 

She half extended her hands to him, and his handsome 
face brightened as he crossed the room and came to her 
side. 

“Answer him, Leone,” he said, in a clear, ringing voice. 
“ He asks you to choose between us, between a life of con- 
tinued deception and the enjoyment of wealth not your 
own, and the humble but safe shelter I have offered you. 
Choose between us, Leone, and may Heaven prompt you to 
choose aright. ’ ’ 

For a moment there was an unbroken silence, while it 
seemed as if every one in the little group could hear the 
loud beating of their own hearts. 

Leone’s answer came to them at last, clear, resolute, and 
unfaltering : 

“ My choice is made.” 

She could not command her voice to say more, but the 
action which accompanied these simple words spoke for it' 
self. Leone had stepped up to Arthur’s side while speak- 
ing, and laid her two hands in his own. 

It would be impossible to depict the rage of the two men 
who were witnesses to this little act. 

Townley’s eyes were actually blazing, while the face of 
Ralph Delmore was ghastly in its pallor. 

“ Do you dare to defy me, and baffle my hopes after all 
the years I have surrounded your life with every comfort 
and luxury? You cannot do it, Leone; I will kill you be- 
fore you shall blast my hopes in this manner,” 


102 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


Ralph Delmore had evidently lost all control of himself, 
and he drew nearer to Leone, as if he would have forced 
her to do as he desired, but Arthur Lee stepped quietly be- 
tween them. 

“You shall pay dearly for this, you ingrate. You shall 
rue the day you dared to oppose me, ’ ’ cried Delmore, and 
then, turning once more toward Leone, he exclaimed, 4 ‘ I 
wish to see you alone, miss ; come to me in my study ; you 
need not fear that I will harm you.” 

“I do not fear you. Arthur, I will go with him. Go 
back into the parlors; I will feel safer if I know you are in 
the house,” Leone whispered, and when Arthur released 
her hand she followed Mr. Delmore out of the room, leav- 
ing Percy Townley alone with his rival. 

As she passed aiong the hallway and up the staircase she 
could hear the gay laughter and happy voices of the com- 
pany in the parlors, and a shudder ran through her frame 
a& she contrasted her present condition with that of the 
merry throng who had courted and flattered her a few 
hours before. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

DEEDS DONE IN DARKNESS. 

“ They spoke of deeds so dark, 

That angels must have wept 
To write them in the Book of Time.” 

What passed between Percy Townley and Arthur Lee 
after the departure of Leone and Ralph Delmore was known 
only to themselves. 

Certain it is that when Townley left the room, half an 
hour later, there was a look of baffled rage on his face, and 
he muttered dire threats of vengeance on the man who had 
dared to come between him and his cherished plans. 

The guests began to take their departure at an earlier 
hour than usual, much to the satisfaction of Mrs. Delmore, 
who was impatient to learn what had occurred to her hus- 
band and Arthur Lee, as well as Leone and Percy Townley, 
out of the parlors. 

Long before the company began to disperse, Dr. Townley 
had left the house, and, late as was the hour, hurried to 
the residence of Lester Clare’s widow. 

Mrs. Clare had not yet retired, and she readily granted 
Townley’ s desire for a private interview, dismissing her 
daughter, who had been conversing with her in excited 
tones ever since the departure of Lydia Barton. 

The first sight of Dr. Townley’ s face filled her with 

alarm, 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


10*5 

“What has happened? Oh, Percy, your eyes frighten 
me! 1 ’ she cried, shrinking aAvav from him as if in fear. 

He did not deign to answer her for a moment, but stood 
leaning against the mantel with his head on his clasped 
hands. 

Mrs. Clare at last ventured to approach him, and laid 
her hand timidly on his arm. 

He shook it off rudely, growling out a request to be let 
alone. 

By and by he condescended to speak, and in a few brief 
words related what had happened between himself and 
Arthur Lee. 

The widow listened attentively, interrupting him now 
and then to ask some trifling question. 

“You see, I am ruined if something does not occur to 
change the purpose of this Arthur Lee, who is willing to 
marry the girl without a dollar, knowing the truth of her 
birth and parentage. He will also trace out the true heirs 
of the fortune Balph Delmore is now enjoying, and the lat- 
ter will be reduced to poverty, while I — pshaw ! It must not 
be, Louise. I must find a means of removing him from my 
path, or getting him out of the way until I am safely married 
to Leone, after which I will be safe, since the love-sick fool 
will be silent for her sake. To accomplish my purpose, I 
must have more money, Louise — plenty of it — so I have 
come to you in the hope of getting it. Get out your check- 
book, please, and write a check for ten thousand dollars. 1 ’ 

As the last words fell from Townley ’s lips, Louise 
Clare sprang to her feet with a cry of amazement and 
horror : 

‘ ‘ Ten thousand dollars ! Percy Townley , you must be 
mad, literallv out of your senses, to make such a ridicu- 
lous demand. You know I cannot give you one quarter 
of that amount. I have already given you all I can possibly 
spare, and you gave me your promise to make no further 
demands on me.” 

The widow w r as sobbing now, and wringing her hands in 
pitiful distress, but the sight of her misery had no effect 
on Percy Townley, except to make him more determined 
to accomplish his purpose. 

“ All you can possibly spare!” he repeated with a mock- 
ing laugh, adding, in a savage tone: “Louise Clare, 
beware how you trifle with me, or you shall find yourself 
in a place where you will need no money. I want ten 
thousand dollars, and you shall give it me, so why make 
such a fuss over it?” 

“J say I shall not give it you. I will not rob my 
daughter of the little dowry I had laid aside for her, say 
what you will, Percy Townley ! I have but one answer for 


104 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


you, and that is, you cannot have the amount you require, 
whatever the consequences may he.” 

For a moment after she had ceased speaking the doctor 
gazed straight into her eyes, surprised at this sudden and 
unexpected show of spirit ; then he laughed heartly, as if 
it were a joke to be enjoyed, and throwing himself on a 
couch, motioned her to seat herself on a chair near to him 
that he might talk with her. 

Something in the expression of his eyes compelled her to 
obey him, and she sank into the seat he had indicated, sub- 
missive as a child. 

“ I want to tell you a little story, Louise, the history of 
our acquaintance. Probably, when I recall some incidents 
of the past, you will be a little less independent.” 

“Oh, no, no! do not recall the past; I remember all. 
Dear Heaven! can I ever forget? Percy, do not speak of 
that dreadful past,” pleaded Mrs. Clare, but her companion 
appeared not to have heard her. 

He was leisurely knocking the ashes from his cigar 
while she spoke, and when she paused, he began as coolly 
as if she had not spoken : 

“Eight years ago I chanced to be passing the summer 
months in a dull little seaport town, to which I had gone 
for rest after the fatigue of an unusually busy season. 
Among the guests at the hotel at which I boarded there 
was a handsome blonde lady, with her invalid husband and 
little daughter. 

4 ‘ I soon became acquainted with the lady, and as her 
husband rarely left his own apartments, we enjoyed many 
a pleasant stroll on the beach and sail on the lake. On one 
occasion I had the good fortune to rescue the lady’s child 
from drowning, a service by which I earned the everlast- 
ing gnatitude of the little lady’s father, and from that time 
madame was more than ever in my company, while the 
child was in constant attendance on her father. 

“I do not want to appear conceited , but I may safely say 
that my handsome friend took pleasure in my society. 
She was intensely romantic, and used constantly to rail 
against the cruel fate that fettered her in uncongenial ties. 
At last I was called upon to attend her husband profession- 
ally, but I saw at once that no earthly power could save 
him. I was struck by something peculiar in his case, a 
change of symptoms that puzzled me, and I at once sus- 
pected the truth. 

4 ‘ A careful examination proved the truth of my suspi- 
cions. The poor husband had been poisoned by a subtle 
drug known only to the natives of India — a poison that 
leaves no trace of its deadly work. He died, with his hand 
clasped closely in that of his destroyer, and, bad and heart- 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


105 


less as I was, there was a moment when I shrank from the 
murderess with horror and loathing, and threatened to de- 
nounce her. She fell at my feet like a log, and I think in 
her frenzy she would have put an end to her own existence 
had I carried my threat into execution ; but I did not do 
so. The demon of play had taken possession of me ; every 
dollar I could earn was carried to the gaming-table, and I 
saw in this woman, whose very life was in my hands, a 
means of gratifying my inordinate passion for gambling. 

“ I had only to demand money from her and it was mine ; 
she dared not refuse me. I gave a certificate to the effect 
that her husband had died from natural causes, and while 
she obeyed me she was safe. I lived like a lord while the 
widow’s money lasted, but by and by it began to give out, 
and I urged her to accept the offer of a rich widower, who 
had fallen desperately in love with the handsome blonde 
widow. 

‘ 4 She consented, of course, and for a time she seemed to 
be quite happy with husband number two, only remember- 
ing her first victim when I made my demands on her. By 
and by her husband began to question her as to her dis- 
posal of the large sums of money she was constantly de- 
manding from him, and as she gave only a confused an- 
swer to this, he refused to supply her so lavishly, and cut 
her down to a certain sum per week. I could not stand 
this ; she had been so long my banker that I expected, and 
would have my share of her fortune, and began at once to 
plan some means by which I might obtain possession of a 
good part of it. 

“ I became acquainted with the husband, who appeared 
to take a fancy to me almost at first sight, and after a little 
time we were firm friends. I could see that the man’s 
heart was wrapped up in his own child, a beautiful daugh- 
ter then at school. This daughter was in her own right 
heiress to a large fortune left by her dead mother ; and be- 
sides this, her father proposed leaving her the best half of 
his own large fortune. 

“ A plan formed itself in my mind when I learned this. 
I would win the heiress, and thus possess myself of all this 
wealth. The girl came home from school, and the moment 
my eyes fell upon her face I abandoned my project. She 
was the living image of the only girl I had ever loved — a 
little golden-haired creature whom I abandoned cruelly, 
and who died with my name on her innocent lips. I could 
not endure the sight of the girl who so closely resembled 
her, it would have seemed that she had risen from her 
grave to haunt me. 

“ Before his daughter’s return from school the father 
was taken ill, and, in fear that he might be called away 


106 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 

suddenly, he made a will, appointing me the child’s guard* 
ian. He soon recovered, however, and himself conducted 
his daughter to her home ; but his strength failed him when 
this task was accomplished, and even I thought he was 
dving for a time ; hut he began to improve, and my hopes 
of being able to handle some of his money gradually grew 
less. I foolishly allowed myself to give expression to the 
fears that troubled me one day when I found myself alone 
with his wife, and we were talking over the probability of 
his recovery or death, when we heard the sound of breath- 
ing behind a curtain near which we sat, and the unfort- 
unate man who had been the object of our conversation fell 
senseless almost at our feet. We conveyed him, with all 
possible haste, to his chamber. The wife was almost 
frantic. Her husband had heard enough to convict her, 
If he recovered he would denounce her and drive her from 
his home — her and the daughter whom she idolized. 

“ I will not lengthen the story, Louise. You are scarcely 
conscious of what I am saying. You know what followed. 
The Indian drug was again brought from its hiding-place, 
and the husband never denounced his guilty wife. Have I 
told the story well, Louise? Would it do to repeat in a 
court of justice? Ah ! she has fainted. I think she’ll give 
me the check I have asked for when she revives. ’ ’ 

As he uttered the last words, Percy Townley raised the 
prostrate form of Louise Clare in his arms, and was about 
to lay her upon a couch, when the door was thrown open, 
and Laura Vereton darted into the room, white as the in- 
animate form in his arms, and with a look in her eyes that 
told him she had heard everything. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A LEAF FROM A DIARY. 

“ Is this the joy so promised — this the love, 

The unchanging love, so sworn in better days? 

Ah! dangerous glories! shown me but to prove 
How lovely thou, and I how rash to gaze.” 

Cowper. 

Lydia Barton felt the angry blood tingling through all 
her veins, when she was obliged to unfold and lay before 
the proud eyes of Laura Vereton the garments her (Lydia’s.) 
mother had made for the latter. 

“ Why should 1 be forced to humiliate myself and ap- 
pear like a servant before this girl, who is no better, and 
not half so handsome as myself?” was Lydia’s angry 
thought, as she glanced involuntarily from the mirror in 
which she had seen her own dark beauty reflected to the 
pale and statuesque loveliness of Laura Vereton, shutting 


LITTLlf SUNSHINE. 


107 


her sharp, white teeth, and clinching her strong hands 
under the garments she held up for Laura’s inspection, as 
she mentally compared her own dress of cheap pink lawn 
with the snow-white, gossamer robes of her more favored 
companion. 

It would seem as if Laura read and understood the • 
thoughts that were passing through the brain of her seam- 
stress’ daughter, for her lips curled m a half-contemptuous, 
half-pitying smile, and she fluttered her perfumed fan until 
the diamonds on her slender fingers flashed and scintillated 
in the gaslight, seeming to Lydia like living eyes of fire, 
mocking at her poverty. 

“They will do; stay here a moment, while I get you 
some money. I suppose your mother needs it,” said 
Laura, coldly, as Lydia held up the last article for her in- 
spection. 

For the life of her, Lydia could not have spoken at that 
moment. 

The words she tried to utter seemed to stick in her throat, 
and she preserved an unbroken silence until Laura had 
swept out of the room. 

Then her angry, rebellious feelings would no longer be 
restrained, and she burst into a passionate torrent of tear^f 

‘ ‘ I will be rich. I was not born for such a life of toil 
and poverty. My face is fairer than that of this cold, 
proud blonde, and with her surroundings I — bah ! what is 
the use of beauty? Others have won by it wealth and po- 
sition, while I ” 

The words died away in a choking sob, and Lydia began 
restlessly pacing the floor of the luxurious apartment, for- 
getting that this was a privilege to which she was not en- 
titled. 

The sound of a step in the hallway recalled her to a sense 
of her position, and she seated herself in the chair to which 
Laura had pointed her on her entrance, angrily dashing 
the tears from her eyes, unwilling that Miss Vereton 
should notice her agitation or suspect its cause. 

It was not Laura whose step she had heard, however, and 
Lydia was conscious of a feeling of relief. 

She was seated near a table, upon which was scattered 
paper and writing materials, and as she turned to look to- 
ward the door in anticipation of Laura’s entrance, her 
elbow struck against the table and knocked from off it a 
small book, elegantly bound in black and gold. 

The book fell with leaves apart upon the floor, and Lydia 
stooped to pick it up. 

It was a diary, as she sa w at the first glance, and the 
page to which it had opened in falling was the last written 

uporjv 


108 


LITTLE , SUNSHINE. 


Treacherous and unscrupulous as she was, Lydia did not 
think of reading what was written there, until her eye 
was caught by a name that immediately riveted her atten- 
tion — the familiar name of her employer, Oscar Hemming- 
way. 

In a moment more she was eagerly devouring the con- 
tents of Laura’s diary. 

It was evident that Laura had been engaged in writing 
in it when disturbed by the entrance of Lydia, for the ink 
was scarcely dry upon that last page. 

The writing was clear and plain, and Lydia read the last 
entry without difficulty. 

“The die is cast. I have promised to be Oscar Hem- 
mingway’s wife. His wife! Dear Heaven, what a mock- 
ery it all is ! How shall I live through all the dark years 
of the future? My heart is full of dull, painful forebod- 
ings. I am the most unhappy creature in existence. I T 
who was so happy till she came with her white, baby 
face and staring, brown eyes. I hated her from the first 
moment my eyes fell upon her face. Some voice in my 
heart whispered that Madeline Clare would work me harm. 
My very worst fears have been realized. She has stolen 
from me the love of Basil Brandon. I thought when she 
disappeared so mysteriously from the house, on the day 
after her father’s burial, that Basil would forget his fancy 
for her doll-like face, but the hope was vain. 

“ Madeline Clare has won him; he is lost to me forever, 
and I have promised to wed a man whom I detest, that 
Basil may not think I grieve over his desertion, and that, 
by means of the wealth which will be mine as the Avife of 
Oscar Hemmingway, I may accomplish the task I have set 
myself — my revenge on Basil Brandon and Madeline Clare. 
Bitterly shall they rue the sorrow they have caused me. I 
know not how my object maybe accomplished, but though 
twenty years elapse before an opportunity offers, I shall 
eventually attain the desired end. Weak woman though I 
am, they shall know what it is to have earned my hatred. 
My first move must be to find Madeline.” 

The writing ended abruptly here, but Lydia had read 
enough to give her an insight into the state of affairs. 

She understood now the presence of Madeline Clare’s 
picture in the room below. She had heard her mother 
speak of Laura Vereton’s beautiful young stepsister whom 
she (Mrs. Barton) had seen on one occasion while carrying 
home work to Laura. 

It will be remembered that Lydia had overheard most of 
the conversation between Madeline and Basil Brandon, in 
Willow Street , a few hours previous to her finding of the 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


109 


diary, and was thus enabled to understand much that would 
otherwise have mystified her. 

Her heart was filled with passionate hatred and jeal- 
ousy of Laura Vereton, and from the moment her eyes fell 
upon the name of Oscar Hemmingway in Laura's diary, 
she determined to do all in her power to break off the pro- 
posed marriage. 

Previous to the day on which she had incurred the con- 
tempt of her employer by her shameful treatment of Lina 
Clark, Lydia Barton had cherished the delusive hope that 
Oscar Hemmingway would eventually yield to her fascina- 
tions, and ask her to share his fortune. He had been re- 
markably attentive to her, it is true ; her bold, dark beauty 
pleased him, and he had certainly given her cause to build 
hopes never likely to be realized. Is it to be wondered at 
that, under these circumstances, this girl, imperfectly edu- 
cated, and knowing nothing of society, save as she formed 
her ideas from the reading of trashy novels, in which the 
heroines are lifted from the gutters to adorn the homes of 
the noblest and the best of the lords of creation, should 
have dreamed of being the wife of her employer? And 
now that the truth had come home to her, and she realized 
that he had merely flattered and caressed her for pastime, 
never intending to raise her to the position to which she so 
fondly aspired, was it strange that she should bitterly re- 
sent his cruel treatment to her, and resolve, by any means, 
however dishonorable or underhand, to foil him in the 
dearest hope of his life? No one could have called Lydia 
Barton beautiful to have seen her at that moment; her 
black eyes had the angry gleam of an enraged wolf's; 
her full red lips were drawn apart, revealing her white 
teeth, tightly clinched, while her nails unconsciously cut 
deep into the leaves of the diary, in its dainty binding of 
black and gold. 

“ What are you doing? How dare you?” 

It was the voice of Laura Vereton, speaking close to her 
elbow— speaking in tones of concentrated passion; but 
Lydia was not in the least alarmed. 

Laura had re-entered the room unobserved by her, 
Lydia being completely absorbed in her own bitter reflec- 
tions. 

“How dare you?” reiterated the enraged Laura, en- 
deavoring as she spoke to take the diary from Lydia’s 
hand. 

Lydia boldly resisted her, and in the struggle the leaf 
upon which Lydians fingers had involuntarily fastened was 
torn away, and remained in her hand, while Laura gained 
possession of the book. 

“You impudent creature! how dare you? You are 


11 0 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


surely mad ! I will call the servants to put you out of the 
house! You shall be searched like a common thief ! No 
doubt you have secreted some of my jewels about your 
person.” 

Laura’s voice failed her here ; she was literally choking 
with passion, and she made a movement toward the bell- 
rope, as if to carry her threat into execution ; but Lydia 
stepped boldly before her, facing her with a look in her 
eyes before which Laura actually quailed. 

“Pon’tring, Miss Vereton; I’m no thief, as you know 
well, and you’ll be sorry if you do as you have threatened. 
Keep cool, young lady, and let me explain. ’ ’ 

u Explain! What explanation can you possibly make 
of your daring act? How dare you presume, you miser 
able shop-girl, to read a lady’s private diary? By what 
right- — ” 

Once again Laura’s voice failed her, and her eyes dropped 
beneath the “ shop-girl’s ” steady gaze. 

Lydia was trembling with rage, and her voice was low 
and hoarse with passion as she cried : 

“ I will tell you by what right I dared to read your pretty 
confession, Miss Vereton. Shop-girl though I be, I have 
the same feelings and passions as you possess, and when 
my eyes fell upon the name of Oscar Hemmingway written 
in this little book, I could not resist the temptation to read 
further. What was Oscar Hemmingway to me, you ask, 
and I answer you, Miss Vereton, he is a man who deigned 
to praise my beauty, the beauty of a shop-girl who was 
only fit to be a toy, a creature to be petted and caressed 
while she pleased his fancy, and neglected and turned from 
with indifference when a lady in a higher sphere of life 
consented to share his lot. He loves you, you think, ha ! 
ha ! ha ! He told me the same story six months ago ; he 
said no other woman’s beauty could stir his heart as mine 
had done, but he did not speak of marriage, and shop-girl 
though I was, I would be content with nothing less, and so 
he cooled toward me, and caressed me no more, although 
we meet every day, and he thinks I have forgotten ; but he 
cannot understand a nature like mine. I never forget or 
forgive an injury. There is a girl working in the factory 
at present who is fair and dainty as a lily-flower, and from 
the moment his eyes fell upon her face I feared in her a 
rival. He at once constituted himself her champion, and I 
determined to remove her from my path as soon as possi- 
ble. I watched the little lady well, feeling certain that 
some mystery surrounded her. I was right. There was a 
mystery, and this very day I solved it.” 

Lydia stopped to laugh softly at the memory of her vie- 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


Ill 


tory, while Laura, who had listened to Lydia’s rapidly ut- 
tered words in amazement, now interposed : 

“ What has all this to do with me, girl? I do not wish 
to know anything concerning Mr. Hemmingway’s love 
affairs; I have nothing whatever to do with the gentleman’s 
past. You have failed to convince me of your right to pry 
into my affairs. Your conduct is altogether inexcusable, 
and I do not wish you to come here again. Say to your 
mother that I shall not require her services in the fut- 
ure. ’ ’ 

Laura made a movement toward the door as she con- 
cluded, as if to show Lydia the way out, but Lydia had no 
intention of taking the hint just then, and met Laura’s 
haughty glance without flinching. 

She did not appear to have heard the lady’s last words 
or to care that her mother was to lose Miss Vereton’s 
patronage. 

“You say you do hot care to know anything concerning 
Mr. Hemmingway’s love affairs,” she exclaimed, repeat- 
ing Laura’s words with a scornful emphasis, and pausing 
for a moment before resuming. “Perhaps you would be 
more interested were I to tell you something concerning 
Mr. Basil Brandon'' s love affairs ” 

Laura Vereton sprung forward and caught her arm be- 
fore she could proceed further. 

“What do you know of Basil Brandon? Speak, or I will 
force the words from your false lips. You are lying to me, 
you are trying to deceive me, your object is to extort 
money from me, but you shall not have one penny! 
Leave the house this minute or I will have you forcibly 
ejected.” 

Laura’s ungovernable temper had gained the mastery 
now, and regardless of consequences she determined to pre- 
vent Lydia from speaking further. 

Lydia, brave as she was, was somewhat daunted by the 
fierce expression of Laura’s countenance, but she quickly 
regained her composure, and took a few steps in the direc- 
tion of the door, with a triumphant glance at the piece of 
paper she held in her hand, the leaf torn from Laura Vere- 
ton’s diary. 

“I shall not put you to the trouble of forcibly ejecting 
me. I have said all I desired to say. You have treated me 
as if I were a creature beneath your notice ; take care that 
it be not in my power to repay you in your own coin. I 
know all about your stepsister and rival, Madeline Clare. 
I hate her, even as much as you hate her, and I might have 
helped you to accomplish the task of which you write in 
your diary, but you have chosen to make me your enemy, 
and you must abide by your choice. ’ ’ 


1 12 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


Lydia’s hand was on the door-knob as she spoke, and she 
would have passed 01 it of the room had not Lama detained 
her. 

It had just occured to the latter that Lydia still retained 
possession of the torn leaf from the diary, and a realization 
of the trouble this scrap of paper might cause, should it 
fall into the hands of Oscar Hemmingway, caused her to 
detain Lydia in the hope of recovering it. 

She demanded its restoration in her usual haughty, im- 
perious manner, holding out her hand as if there was not 
the least doubt in her mind of Lydia’s willingness to re- 
store it. 

Lydia laughed scornfully, and coolly put her hand be- 
hind her. 

“ I shall keep this, with your permission, Miss Vereton. 
Mr. Hemmingway may thank me for letting him into the 
secret of his bride-elect’s feelings in regard to him. Did 
you think I would allow such an opportunity of wounding 
and humiliating him to pass without embracing it?” 

Again Lydia endeavored to j)ass out of the room, and 
again Laura detained her. 

The countenance of the latter had undergone a great 
change. 

The look of scornful defiance had given place to one of 
dread, and the color had faded from her face, leaving it 
deadly pale. 

“ Sit down one moment. I — I may have spoken too 
hastily,” she said, quietly, and when Lydia had obeyed her 
by seating herself comfortably in one of the amber satin 
chairs, she bowed her face in her hands for a moment, and 
paced the length of the room once or twice before she could 
gain strength to speak again. 

“You know my secret!” she suddenly ejaculated, paus- 
ing before Lydia and looking down upon her with all the 
defiance vanished from her proud face. “You know my 
secret, and you would not hesitate to expose me. I have no 
choice but to throw myself on your mercy. What can I 
do to buy your silence?” 

She paused, waiting eagerly for Lydia’s answer, while 
the latter seemed to be deliberating as to what reply she 
should make. 

At last a bright idea seemed to strike her, for she smiled, 
and answered : 

“ Please sit down, I have something particular to say to 
you. ’ ’ 

Laura obeyed unquestioningly, yielding herself to the 
stronger spirit that controlled her. 

For the next half hour the two girls, Laura Vereton and 
Lydia Barton, conversed in low, guarded tones, at the end 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


113 


of which time Lydia arose to take her departure, this time 
without hinderance, and evidently well satisfied with the 
result of her interview. 

“ Are you sure that you can accomplish what you have 
promised?” asked Laura, to which Lydia confidently re- 
plied : 

1 ‘ Three days from now you shall see Madeline Clare and 
judge for yourself if I have not told you true. I know you 
will not fail in your promise, Miss Vereton, so I shall work 
faithfully to attain the end you have in view.” 

They parted with a cool good -night a moment later, and 
Lydia took her departure, still retaining the leaf torn from 
Laura’s diary. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A SAD PARTING. 

u Oh! this world is stern and dreary, 

Everywhere we roam; 

Praise God ! a voice hath called the weary, 

In Thee is found a home!” 

The events immediately following the sale of her treas- 
ured ring seemed ever, afterward to Madeline like the dim 
and half-formed scenes of a dream. 

She never remembered how she reached the place she 
called home. She had only a vague and hazy recollection 
of the events that transpired after her arrival there. 

She watched them carrying the remains of poor little 
Nettie into the room so lately brightened by her presence, 
without shedding a tear. 

She could not weep, she looked with dry and aching eyes 
on the pretty, dead face, so calm and peaceful in its last re- 
pose. She brushed the soft rings of brown hair around the 
marble forehead, and did not shiver or shrink from the icy 
coldness. The neighbors whispered among themselves that 
she was cold and heartless, and that she had no feeling; 
but when she was alone Madeline knelt for hours by the 
dead, speaking to the senseless clay, as if her pitiful appeal 
could penetrate the ears sealed by death. 

“Nettie! little friend, you are so happy, so happy, dar- 
ling. Oh, Nettie ! you are with God ; ask Him to take me, 
too; He will not refuse you, Nettie. I have tried to pray, 
but I cannot ; He does not hear me, there is such an im- 
measurable distance between us; but you are with Him, 
Nettie, ask Him to call me to you.” 

Poor little suffering Madeline, she was scarcely conscious 
of what was passing round her in that trying time ; there 
was a cruel pressure on her heart and brain, and the look 
of mute agony on the fair young face might have appealed 
to the hearts of those who condemned her. Mrs. Vernon 


114 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


insisted on remaining with her during that first night of 
watching by the dead. 

This good lady was very kind and thoughtful of Made- 
line’s comfort; but there was something unusual in her 
manner toward the young girl ; the motherly tenderness 
with which she had hitherto treated her was missing. Mrs. 
Vernon could not quite forgive the girl who had caused her 
idolized son to suffer as she had seen him do after the reve- 
lations of Basil Brandon. It was well that Madeline did not 
notice this change, it would have been a fresh blow to the 
already overburdend heart. 

The girl was really ill, and almost delirious during all the 
day that followed that night of watching by the dead ; but 
she would not yield to the feeling of weakness that threat- 
ened to overcome her, and with a face white as that of poor 
Nettie she moved about the room, or sat beside the coffin, 
with hands folded idly in her lap, and her brown eyes, 
feverishly bright, turned wistfully toward heaven, as if 
awaiting the summons that should call her hence. 

She had placed the money realized from the sale of her . 
ring into the hands of Mrs. Vernon, begging that lady to 
make all arrangements for the simple funeral, omitting to 
say where she had obtained the money. 

Audley had been within hearing when Madeline made 
this request, and heard his mother repeat the amount of 
money in astonishmant. 

“It is Brandon’s money,” he said, bitterly, adding as he 
bent his face on his clasped hands in very anguish of spirit : 

“ Oh, God, how has my idol fallen!” 

Perhaps the same thoughts flitted through the brain of 
Aud ley’s mother, for her manner was even colder than it 
had hitherto been toward Madeline, a fact fortunately un- 
noticed by the latter. 

During the day Basil Brandon called, with offers of as- 
sistance, but Madeline repelled him so pointedly that he 
considered it best to leave her, contenting himself with giv- 
ing orders to Mrs. Vernon to take care of Madeline, or, as 
he patronizingly termed her, ‘ ‘ My poor little girl. ’ ’ 

The time passed to Madeline on leaden wings until the 
hour arrived when Nettie’s remains were to be carried to 
their last resting place, and Mrs. Vernon led her to the 
coffin for a last look on the face of the dead. Then it would 
seem as if the memory of Nettie’s last words occurred to 
her, and she looked eagerly into the faces of the neighbors 
who surrounded the coffin in hope of seeing Audley Vernon, 
whose name had been last on the lips of poor Nettie. 

‘ ‘ Tell him to come ; ask him to bid her farewell ; for she 
— she loved him. ’ ’ 

Mrs, Vernon started as these words fell on her ear, and 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 115 

turned to find Madeline’s white face raised imploringly to 
her own. 

“Loved him!” repeated the mother, and then, as many 
little acts of Nettie’s recurred to her, a light dawned upon 
her— a suspicion of the truth — and the involuntary kiss she 
pressed upon the forehead of the dead girl had in it some- 
thing of a mother’s tenderness, while the look she turned 
for a moment on poor Madeline, who had — as she believed 
—scorned the love little Nettie had coveted, was full of re- 
proach and almost of anger. 

She drew her arm free from the clinging clasp of Made- 
line’s hands, and went to summon Audley. 

He came somewhat reluctantly, for he had not yet 
schooled himself to meet calmly the girl whom he believed 
had treated him with such deliberate cruelty. 

He was frightfully pale, and there were dark circles 
under his eyes, and a look of pain about his handsome 
mouth. 

Mrs. Vernon led him to the coffin, and Madeline, watch- 
ing him with wide, wistful eyes, saw him stoop over the 
dead girl, and touch the soft hair clustering round the pale 
forehead, in mute farewell. 

“ Kiss her; she would have wished it, kiss her good-bye,” 
whispered Madeline, and scarcely realizing that it was her 
voice which had spoken to him, he touched his lips to the 
icy face, saying, softly : 

“ Poor little girl! poor little sister! there is no more lone- 
liness or sorrow for you; all is rest.” 

Something in the tone in which this simple farewell was 
spoken brought the tears to the eyes of all who heard 
them, and the sound of low sobbing was heard as Audley 
Vernon turned away from the coffin. 

The first face upon which his eyes fell when he raised 
them from their contemplation of the dead was the white, 
wan face of the girl he had loved so passionately. 

For one moment their eyes met, hers full of pain, and 
mutely appealing to his pity, and his wearing an expres- 
sion of reproach, and telling of suffering so intense that 
what she herself endured sank into insignificance before it. 

Madeline quickly dropped her eyes, unable to bear that 
reproachful gaze, and Audley attributed the act to a feel- 
ing of shame on her part. 

“ She dare not look into my face. Oh, Heaven! how can 
a face so fair conceal so false and treacherous a heart, ’ ’ he 
thought, as he turned away from her, to seek the solitude 
of his own cheerless chamber. 

What passed during the rest of the day was like a dream 
to Madeline* The memory of the look she had seen on 


1 1 6 LITTLE S UNSHINE. 

Audley’s face haunted her to the exclusion of every other 
thought. 

She heard the dull thud of the earth falling upon Nettie’s 
coffin, and uttered no word or cry, although to her excited 
fancy it seemed that it was Audley they were hiding from 
her sight, and when the last spadeful of sod had been 
thrown on the grave, and some one took her arm to lead 
her away, she threw out her hands like a blind person try- 
ing to grope their way, and with Audley’s name on her 
pale lips, fell senseless at their feet. 

Mrs. Vernon raised her from the ground, and with some- 
thing of the old-time tenderness set about reviving her. 

They were in the carriage on the homeward journey 
when Madeline at last recovered consciousness. 

“ Where are you taking me?” she asked, wildly, scarcely 
recognizing her companion. 

Mrs. Vernon spoke gently to her, trying to arouse her 
to a sense of her surroundings, and after a time succeeded. 

“I will go directly to the factory, it will be best; the 
necessity for action will help to sustain me. See! this 
street will lead me to it ; please stop the carriage and let 
me out. Oh, Mrs. Vernon, do not ask me to go again to 
your house, I could not live through another meeting with 
your son. ’ ’ 

Madeline’s last words were spoken wildly, hut the al- 
lusion to her son steeled Mrs. Vernon’s heart against her, 
and that lady answered coldly : 

“I have no desire to interfere with your plans, Miss 
Clark, and as you may readily imagine, I am not anxious 
to throw you in contact with my son. ’ ’ 

Every w^ord of this cutting speech was like a sword 
thrust to the bleeding heart of the girl to whom it was ad- 
dressed, but she uttered no word of protest, she was bear- 
ing it all for his sake, and the thought comforted her. 

It was now about noontime, and the factory bell was 
ringing lustily, while groups of men and girls were hurry- 
ing to their noonday meal. 

They were quite near to Fell & Hemming way’s factory, 
and Madeline prepared to leave the carriage. 

Mrs. Vernon would have shaken her hand carelessly in 
farewell, but at the last Madeline’s courage failed her, 
and she threw herself on the lady’s breast, saying, passion- 
ately : 

4 4 1)o not send me from you so coldly. I cannot bear it. 
Cannot you see that I am suffering; that my heart is break- 
ing? Oh, if I might tell you all — but no! I dare not. Oh, 
my friend, my only one ! hold me in your arms just one 
moment — kiss me once before we part forever, I know you 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


Ill 


cannot forgive the pain I have caused him — your son— 
my ” 

“ Lina, my child, what is this? — your eyes tell me— answer 
me, girl — do you love him— do you love my boy?” 

“ Love him ! dear Heaven ! how feebly the word expresses 
my feelings toward him ; with every pulse of my heart, 
every fiber of my being, I love him. Were he the lowliest 
beggar on earth and I a queen I would choose him from all 
other men in existence. So well I love him that I am con- 
tent to live the life to which I have doomed myself for his 
— but what am I saying? — oh, Mrs. Vernon, forget my wild 
words, remember only that I will be the wife of Basil Bran- 
don in three weeks from now. ’ ’ 

She attempted to leave the carriage, which had stopped 
now, but Mrs. Vernon’s arms were close around her. 

“My poor child! there is some dreadful mystery here, 
but you shall be saved in spite of yourself. With the 
knowledge of your love for him, Audley will be strong to 
work out your redemption. He will discover what power 
this Brandon holds over you, and he will break the chains 
that bind you to him, never fear. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Vernon was not prepared for the effect these words 
produced on Madeline. 

The girl’s eyes widened and dilated with terror. 

If Audley Vernon attempted to foil the plans of Basil 
Brandon he would bring ruin on his own head, and thus 
her suffering would be all in vain. 

She clutched Mrs. Vernon’s hands tightly in her own, 
saying wildly : 

“ By your love for your son, by your hopes for his future, 
I conjure you to say nothing to him of the confession I have 
rashly made to you. You would bring ruin upon him. 
Your own hand would dash to earth all the bright pros- 
pects now opening before him. I cannot explain to you, 
but as truly as the sun shines in the sky above us you will 
blast your son’s happiness if you allow him to interfere 
with Basil Brandon. Oh, promise me, if you would not 
drive me to desperation — promise to say nothing of what 
has passed between us during the last hour. ’ ’ 

Something in the expression of the anguished face raised 
so wildly to her own, more than in the words themselves, 
compelled Mrs. Vernon to give the desired promise. 

Madeline covered her hands with kisses in her gratitude, 
and for a moment rested in the shelter of the kind arms, 
that might nevermore enfold her. 

“Good-bye, good-bye!” she whispered at last, and Mrs. 
Vernon’s tears fell thick and fast on the girl’s golden head 
as she answered huskily : 

“Good-bye, my poor little girl! May the God of the 


118 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


orphan have you in His holy keeping, and guard and guide 
you safely to the home he has promised the weary ones of 
earth. I shall never cease to pray for you. Good-bye, my 
darling, my heart goes with you. ’ ’ 

Another kiss, and clinging embrace, and Mrs. Vernon let 
Madeline go from her, watching the little figure through a 
blinding mist of tears, as it disappeared in the crowd, while 
the bells clashed out their brazen call. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE LOVERS’ PARTING. 

“ Good-night, and still good-night again, • 

Until the end, unsought, drew nigh, 

And clasped the good-night’s golden round 
With sorrow’s saddest word, good-bye.” 

Long after the last guest had taken his departure, and 
darkness reigned in the parlors so lately a scene of festiv- 
ity and mirth, Arthur Lee lingered in the room in which 
Leone had left him, when she had been summoned to that 
dreaded interview with her father in his study. 

Arthur scarcely knew why he lingered. 

It was not at ail likely, he told himself, that Leone 
would return to him that night, yet he could not force him- 
self to quit the house, although the air of it seemed to stifle 
him. 

He paced the floor backward and forward with nervous, 
restless strides, waiting, watching, expecting he knew not 
what. 

The servants locked up the house without disturbing him, 
for it was expected that he would remain his uncle’s guest 
as long as he stayed in Brooklyn. 

He listened intently to every sound throughout the house, 
imagining at times that he heard the murmur of Leone’s 
clear voice, and again her passionate sobs. 

More than once he was impelled to go boldly to the study 
and demand an entrance, but the thought that Leone had 
voluntarily granted Ralph Delmore the interview restrained 
him, and he continued his restless pacing of the floor, and 
his weary waiting. 

He heard the study- door opening and closing at last, and 
the firm tread of Raiph Delmore’ s feet ascending the stairs 
to his bedchamber. 

Then he stood almost breathless in the center of the 
room, for his strained ears caught the sound of lighter foot- 
falls coming down the stairs, and his heart told him that 
Leone was coming to him. 

He did not wonder at this proceeding on her part ; it did 
not occur to him that the hour was late, and the rest of 


LITTLE SUNSHINE, 


119 


the household wrapt in slumber. His eyes fastened them 
selves on the door, through which Leone must enter, and 
he held out his hand as if to welcome her, but the words 
ho would have uttered died on his lips ; he could only gaze 
in wondering awe on the vision of loveliness revealed to his 
view, as Leone appeared on the threshold, forming a pict- 
ure which never faded from his memory while life en 
dured. 

Was it a living, breathing woman that stood before him, 
framed in the dark, oaken casing of the doorway, her sea- 
green robe falling in soft folds around her queenly form, 
white-trimmed, like foam -crests on a billow; her waving, 
black hair falling loosely over her snow-white shoulders; 
her face colorless as any statue, and her great lustrous 
black eyes glowing like stars in the semi-darkness. 

“Leone,” he managed to articulate at last, “Leone!” 
and at the sound of his voice she started, like one awaken- 
ing from a dream, and as he drew her into the room her 
lips quivered, and her eyes sought his own, full of a dumb, 
questioning pain, such a look as he had seen in the eyes of 
a hunted deer at bay. 

Looking down upon her thus, Arthur Lee knew that this 
woman held his very soul in her keeping. 

What mattered it that the shadow of shame and sin had 
fallen over her young life? He loved her, and had no 
power against one glance of those luminous eyes, one touch 
of those slender little hands. 

He clasped her to his breast, and kissed the tremulous 
lips that struggled so hard to falter out their story. 

He knew that she was trying to tell him the details of 
her interview with Ralph Delmore. but Arthur would not 
listen, seeing how keenly she would suffer in the telling. 

‘ ‘ My darling, it will soon be over. Before the sun sets 
again I will have claimed the right to protect you. Why 
do you shiver and turn your head from me? Have I not 
your promise to be mine?” 

Leone’s only answer was a burst of tears, and for a mo- 
ment she wept unrestrainedly— tears that were a great re- 
lief to her overburdened heart and aching brain. 

Arthur made no attempt to console her, but he held her 
close in his arms, where she could feel the throbbing of his 
loyal heart against her own. 

Presently she drew herself out of his embrace, ashamed 
of her own weakness, and began to stammer a confused 
apology for her return to him. 

“I came to say good-bye,” she said, softly; then, seeing 
his look of alarm, she quickly substituted for “good-bye,” 
the less significant phrase “ goodnight;” buther tone had in 


120 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


it all the sadness of a farewell that was to be not for a night 
alone, but for all eternity. 

“What do you mean, Leone?” Arthur cried, a sudden 
fear taking possession of him and seeming to press upon 
his heart like a hand of iron. “ What do you mean, my 
darling? You look upon me as if you contemplated leav- 
ing me forever, when in reality we need not be parted 
more than a few hours. See, Leone, the light of dawn 
brightens the eastern sky, and before the eventide you will 
be my wife. ’ ’ 

Arthur had lifted the heavy curtains aside, and pointed 
out of the window, and Leone involuntarily raised her eyes 
toward the heaven, murmuring brokenly : 

“Before the eventide — dear God, pity me!” 

Arthur did not catch the import of her words. He was 
urging her with gentle firmness to retire for a few hours, 
and speaking hopefully of the future opening before 
them. 

She started to leave the room at last, promising to seek 
the rest she so much needed ; but at the door she turned and 
looked back at him, as Eve might have looked when the 
gates of paradise closed forever against her. 

Again the iron hand seemed pressing Arthur’s heart, 
and involuntarily he extended his hands, as if to draw her 
back from some threatened peril. 

With a low, sobbing cry she flung herself on his breast, 
and for a moment her arms clung about his neck, her 
sweet breath floating over his cheek, and her warm lips 
kissed him again and again; then she broke from his em- 
brace and fled, leaving him with a white rose, that had 
fallen from her breast, pressed close against his heart, and 
his whole being thrilling and quivering with her passion- 
ate parting caresses. He listened until the last sound of 
her light footfalls had died away in silence, and then let 
himself quietly out of the house he was destined never 
again to enter, without arousing any of its inmates. 

“ Only a few hours,” he had said to Leone; “only a few 
hours, and I shall return to claim my bride. You will be 
my wife, Leone, and all your sorrows ended, before the 
eventide,” he had fondly whispered, little dreaming what 
fate held in store for them both, and what a sad change 
would have fallen on them before the eventide. 

Perhaps some vague foreshadowing of coming evil came 
to him in that hour, for he shivered slightly as he made 
his way to one of the ferries, where he knew the boats 
ran to and from New York even at this unusual hour. 

The dim light in the east that heralded the dawn 
was now obscured by black, frowning clouds, promising 
a stormy day, and as Arthur hurried on toward the ferry, 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


121 


the rain began to fall, adding to his depression and the 
dreariness of the scene around him. 

He reached the ferry just in time to jump aboard the 
boat, and in a few minutes later found himself in New 
York. 

He was stopping at the Metropolitan Hotel, and as this 
was rather a long distance from the ferry, he looked about 
him for some conveyance to take him to it. 

There were no public coaches at their stands at that 
hour, so there was nothing for it but to walk up to Broad- 
way, where he might succeed in finding a hack. 

Walking through the streets for this purpose, he had no 
thought of danger; his mind was too engrossed with 
thoughts of Leone and the change he was about to make in 
his own life. 

He was aware that it was a rough neighborhood through 
which he was traveling, but it never occurred to him that 
the glitter of the diamond in his shirt-besom might tempt 
the eyes of some of its wicked inhabitants, until, without a 
moment’s warning, a man sprung upon him from an open 
doorway, and before he could raise an arm to defend him- 
self a crushing blow descended on his head, and he fell to 
the pavement without a groan. 

A policeman going his rounds half an hour later, scarcely 
awake, having just roused himself from a nap in a conven- 
ient bar-room, stumbled over the prostrate form of Arthur 
Lee, and believing it to be one of the many cases of drunken 
men to which he had become accustomed, he kicked the 
fallen man roughly, ordering him with an oath that will 
not bear repeating, to “get up” and “come along” with 
him to the lock-up. 

Poor Arthur was deaf to this rude command, however, 
and gave not the slightest sign of life. 

By this time the officer had succeeded in shaking off his 
drowsiness, and a closer examination showed that the pros- 
trate man was no common drunkard, but a gentleman who 
had been foully dealt with. 

He quickly summoned assistance, and the unfortunate 
gentleman was carried to the nearest police station. Ar- 
thur’s pockets had been rifled of watch and pocket-book 
and the diamonds wrenched from his shirt-bosom, but some 
cards were found in his coat-pocket which enlightened them 
as to his identity, and upon one of them was written 
“Metropolitan Hotel.” 

The police surgeon thought it best that he be taken at 
once to his hotel where he could be well attended and have 
the best medical advice, and accordingly Arthur Lee was 
carried, white and senseless, to the rooms he had left in 
perfect health a few hours before. 


LITTLE SUNSHINE, 


iop 

L /v 

“Poor fellow! so young and handsome, and he must- 
die,’' was whispered from lip to lip, and it was evident 
from the grave looks cast on the cold, pale face, that the 
cowardly assassin had done his work well, and Arthur Lee 
would ^ o claim his bride before the eventide. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE SUICIDE. 

•* One more unfortunate, 

Weary of breath, 

Rashly importunate, 

Gone to her death.” 

Leaving Arthur Lee, white and senseless on his couch in 
the Metropolitan Hotel, we must return once again to the 
homejof Ralph Delmore, on Pierrepont Street, Brooklyn, and 
follow the movements of the beautiful girl whom Arthur 
was to have called by the sacred name of wife. 

When Leone had broken from Arthur’s embrace after 
that last passionate caress, she hurried directly to the ele- 
gant suit of apartments she had occupied since her return 
from school, and locked the doors to prevent the possibility 
of intrusion. 

The gas was lighted, softly shaded by crystal globes each 
side her dressing-case, revealing the dainty appointments 
of the room in which she stood, with its rose-tinted walls, 
its costly furniture of white and gold, its thick, soft carpet, 
snow-white, with running vines of moss-roses, and its 
chaste paintings and statuettes worth almost their weight 
in gold. 

These were the surroundings to which Leone had been 
accustomed from her earliest childhood, the scenes she had 
resolved to leave to-day — to leave— for what? 

She shuddered as if the icy breath of winter had touched 
her, as she looked around her, asking herself this question. 

A bright -plumaged parrot, disturbed from its slumber by 
her entrance, hopped about in his gilded cage repeating the 
words that had been his last lesson : 

“Good-bye, Leo— good-bye. ” 

“Yes, yes! it will be a good-bye, indeed. Arthur, your 
love might have saved me once, but now! Oh! Heaven! it 
is too late ! too late !” 

The words fell tremblingly from Leone’s lips, as she 
threw herself in a kneeling posture before one of the white 
satin couches, not weeping, but with a hopeless, despairing 
look upon her face, tenfold more pitiful than tears. 

The parrot continued its shrill cry of “Good-bye, Leo, 
good-bye,” the gray light in the east grew brighter 
until the sun streamed forth its roseate rays, while still 


LITTLE S UNSHIN hi 


m 


the girl knelt in an attitude of prayer, but no petition 
from those quivering lips reached the mercy seat, for 
thoughts were in her heart that would have made prayer 
a mockery. 

The glaring light of day streamed into the room, when 
the sound of a light tap on the door of her chamber caused 
Leone to spring to her feet like one suddenly aroused from 
a dream. The tap sounded again on the panels of the door, 
this time louder and more imperative, and only waiting to 
push back the heavy hair from her forehead, Leone hastened 
to open it. 

As she had expected, it was Ralph Delmore who stood on 
the threshold, his face haggard and pale as her own, and his 
eyes with dark circles underneath them, telling of a sleep- 
less night. 

He entered the room, and locked the door before address- 
ing Leone, who had sunk wearily intaa chair, with her pale 
face lifted expectantly to his own. He looked at her for a 
moment without speaking, toying idly the while with the 
crimson tassels of his morning-gown. 

“Well,” he ejaculated at last, and his tone had in it 
nothing of kindness or compassion. “Well, miss, have 
you thought over what I said to you last night, and 
decided to give up Arthur Lee, or is it still your wish 
to drag him down to a level with yourself, to blast his 
happiness, to make him an object of scorn and derision, 
as he will surely be when the world learns the antecedents 
of his wife. In his love-sick folly he forgets all this, he 
sees only the luster of your eyes, the beauty of your face ; 
but when he awakens from this dream, when the possibility 
occurs to him of children being born to him, children upon 
whose innocent brovrs may be written the fatal, accursed 
brand of their mother’s ” 

“ Hush, hush, for the love of Heaven !” wildly interrupted 
Leone, grasping, in her excitement, the arm of the speaker, 
and compelling him, by the fiery glance of her wide, di- 
lated eyes, to silence. 

‘ ‘ Answer my question, and I will be silent. Have you 
concluded to obey me? will you send Arthur Lee from you? 
Will you voluntarily refuse to be his wife?” 

The hand which Leone had placed upon his arm was now 
grasped firmly in that of Ralph Delmore, while his hard, 
unpitying eyes searched her agonized face. 

“ I have given him up; I will never be his wife.” 

The words escaped Leone’s lips in a tone scarcely less 
hard and cold than his own. 

A gleam of devilish triumph overswept the dark counte- 
nance of Ralph Delmore, and he could w r ith difficulty re- 
strain the exultant exclamation that struggled for utter- 


124 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


ance, but be succeeded in speaking in the same cold tone 
when he again addressed Leone. 

“There is more than this required of you, Leone; it is 
not only necessary for you to renounce the hope of becom- 
ing his wife, but you must exact a promise from Arthur to 
keep the secret he has discovered inviolate. He will do it 
for your sake, and the world will know nothing of your 
story. 

“Look at your surroundings, girl; think of the brilliant 
life you have led, and may still continue to lead, the queen 
of the proud circle in which you move, envied and admired 
by those who would hold their robes aside lest your touch 
should contaminate them, did they know the truth. 
Weigh well your triumphs with the shame and contumely 
that would be heaped upon you in the latter case, and let 
me know your decision. Think also of the benefits I have 
heaped upon you ; look into your mirror and see the dia- 
monds sparkling and flashing with every movement of 
your body, and tell me then if I deserve to be ruined by 
you as you have threatened to ruin me. ’ ’ 

Delmore paused here, watching the girl’s face covertly 
while waiting for her answer, but he was not prepared for 
the passionate outburst of words that fell from her lips at 
last, as she drew herself up with a tragic dignity that gave 
her the air of an outraged queen, standing erect before him, 
quivering, tempestuous and more beautiful than he had 
ever beheld her before. 

“ I remember everything. I have forgotten nothing of 
the past ; I know what you have done for me ; I am fully 
sensible of the debt I owe you. Will you listen patiently 
while I rehearse the story of my life ’ ’ 

Delmore tried to stop her, to prevent the swift flow of 
words falling from her white lips ; but he might as well 
have tried to stay the current of a fast-flowing river. 

Leone was blind to his threatening frowns, deaf to the 
menace in his voice, and the tale of the past as it was re- 
hearsed by her had in it a strange eloquence that held his 
attention riveted till the end. 

4 4 Twenty years ago, Ralph Delmore, you lived with your 
uncle, Aubrey Clare, on the latter’s plantation in Virginia. 
Until you were fifteen years old you believed — as did all 
who knew you — that you would inherit your uncle’s entire 
fortune, but at that epoch in your life another orphan 
nephew, the son of Aubrey Clare’s only brother, who 
had been killed in battle, was left to the charge of the 
wealthy planter, and you saw your bright dream rudely 
shattered. 

“ The new-comer was a fair-faced, noble-looking boy two 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


125 


years your junior, and different from yourself as night is 
different from day. 

“You were selfish, arrogant and grasping, while Lester 
Aubrey Clare was generous to a fault, open-hearted, and 
gentle as a girl ; of a dreamy, poetic nature, he shrank like 
a sensitive plant from the slightest word of unkindness, 
and from the hour of his entrance into his uncle's home 
you hated him, and began to make his life miserable. 

“ Your uncle, on the contrary, learned to love the boy, 
a fact which increased your hatred of the latter tenfold. 

“ As years rolled on, bringing you nearer to manhood, 
your ungovernable temper and overbearing ways were con- 
tinually getting you into trouble, while for miles around 
the old plantation the name of Lester Clare was loved and 
honored. 

“You were haughty and overbearing, and cruel to the 
slaves and menials around you, while Lester’s heart ached 
with pity for them, and his intercession saved them many 
a time from unmerited punishment. 

“Your uncle could not close his eyes to your glaring 
faults, while day by day and year by year Lester grew 
dearer to his heart. 

“Your hatred of your uncle’s favorite grew to be the 
strongest passion of your nature, and you swore to work 
his downfall. 

“Fate seemed to favor your evil designs. Your uncle 
was an intensely proud man. The pet scheme of his heart 
was to see his heirs married to wealthy and high-born 
wives, and when his favorite, the poet, Lester, fell desper- 
ately in love with the daughter of a poor widow who was 
obliged to work hard for a living, the old man was fear- 
fully angry, and commanded Lester to give the girl up on 
pain of being disinherited ; but the brave boy refused to 
obey his uncle’s mandate — his sunny-haired Madeline was 
dearer to him than all the wealtli of the world, and if the 
choice was given him he would clasp his darling to his 
heart, and with her arms around him feel strong to face 
the world. 

“ This was your time. You added fuel to the old man’s 
wrath by every means in your power, and the end of it was 
that Lester was turned from the doors almost penniless, 
his hitherto kind and indulgent uncle refusing even to bid 
him God-speed. 

“ He married Madeline Grey and started to push his fort- 
une in the North, while you were triumphantly reinstated 
into your uncle’s favor. 

“You pleased him by marrying a haughty heiress, and 
you had no fear but that you would come into possession of 
Aubrey Clare’s fortune at the latter’s death. 


126 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


“ The time came when the old man’s health failed him, 
and you looked forward eagerly to the hour of his demise, 
and planned what you would do with the fortune of which 
you would then be the undisputed possessor. 

‘ ‘ A daughter was born to you, and one month later your 
uncle died. After the funeral the friends and relatives of 
the deceased gathered in the library to witness the reading 
of the will. 

“You could scarcely conceal your exultation, and failed 
to notice the curious look cast upon you by the old family 
solicitor, whose duty it was to read the important docu- 
ment. 

‘ ‘ The contents of the will surprised every one, and almost 
stunned you, who expected to inherit all, for, with the ex- 
ception of a few unimportant bequests to the servants, it left 
every dollar which Aubrey Clare died possessed of to the 
infant Leone Delmore, your daughter, to be held in trust 
for her until she attained her eighteenth year, and in case 
of her death before arriving at that age, the entire fortune 
was to revert to the nephew who had been driven from the 
testator’s home in disgrace, Lester Aubrey Clare. 

“No one could ever imagine what had possessed the 
old man to make such a strange will, but there it was, 
and there was no contesting it, and there were too many 
witnesses on hand to make it possible for you to alter it. 

“All your hopes, therefore, were centered in the life 
of your "child, and when, one month after your uncle’s 
burial, the infant sickened, you were on the verge of de- 
spair. 

“ One of the house servants, a beautiful octoroon girl, 
had given birth to a child on the same day as that on which 
the young heiress was born, a child as fair as your own, 
and when you saw that there was no possible hope of your 
little one’s recovery, you conceived the idea of putting the 
octoroon’s infant in the place of your own. 

“ It was an easy task to bind the poor slave to secrecy, 
and the rest was equally easy of accomplishment. 

“ Your baby died, but it was the poor slave who affected 
to mourn its loss, while your proud and dainty wife car- 
ressed in public the child she called her own, and in pri- 
vate flung it from her with disgust. 

“The octoroon pleaded hard to be allowed to remain 
as nurse for the child, but even this boon was denied 
her, for you feared her great love for her offspring would 
betray her into some act calculated to spoil your plans. 

“You had no pity in your heart for the unfortunate 
girl, and you sold her to a trader who would carry her far 
away: 

“When in her agony at being separated thus rudely from 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


1ST 


her child she rashly threatened to betray you, you silenced 
her by threats of consigning the child to the same fate, and 
she allowed herself to be torn from her babe, and said 
never a word, for its sake. 

“You were safe then, Ralph Delmore; you saw the 
octoroon’s child caressed and flattered as the heiress, while 
you, as her guardian, reigned as master of the plantation, 
and Lester Clare, its rightful owner, struggled bravely to 
make for himself a name in the world — a task he nobly ac- 
complished, winning wealth by his energy and perseverance, 
and endearing himself to the hearts of all with whom he 
came in contact. Not content with wronging him as you 
had done, you hated him, and were angered at his success, 
and rejoiced when a cruel blow fell upon him — the death 
of the idolized wife for whose sake he had sacrified the 
wealth you had sinned to obtain. 

“ You came to New York, where you often met him face 
to face, and when he placed his child at a fashionable 
seminary you entered your heiress as a pupil there, and I 
— the child of a slave — was Madeline Clare’s companion 
and bosom friend. 

‘ ‘ I knew nothing of my own history. I was proud of 
my wealth and high station; but I had always been pain- 
fully conscious that you did not give me a father's affec- 
tion, and I never remember the time when the woman I 
was taught to call mother gave me a caress or a smile. 

“ I grew up cold and proud, and never knew what it 
was to feel affection for any living creature until I met sweet 
Madeline Clare. The sunny-haired, happy little creature 
won her way into my lonely heart, and the first gleam of 
sunshine that had ever brightened my cheerless life came 
to me in her presence. Our schooldays ended, and my 
darling left me for her happy home, while I came back — 
to what? You forbade me to continue my intimacy with 
Madeline, and when I rebelled against this tyranny you 
spoke words in your passion that gave me the first intima- 
tion of what I was. 

‘ ‘ I did not rest night or day until I had learned the en- 
tire story of the past, it is not necessary to repeat how I 
gained my knowledge, enough that the frightful truth was 
laid bare to me in all its hideous details. It was with diffi- 
culty you restrained me from going to the home of Lester 
Clare and revealing the whole story, but you worked upon 
the accursed pride that has ever been the strongest passion 
in my heart, and I shrank in horror from the thought of 
being exposed to the scorn of a cold world. 

“ Madeline’s father died, and I dared not go to my dar- 
ling in her hour of sorrow. She came to me, and was told 
I was not at home. I saw her turning from the door, with 


128 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


her sweet, young face so unutterably pale and sad that my 
very heart cried out in pity for her. 

“I forgot what I was, and dared to chide your wife for 
sending Madeline away, but she quickly reminded me that 
the girl would not care to meet me if she knew the truth, 
and I was silenced. Then I heard that Madeline had left 
her home with a lover, and no one knew whither they had 
gone. 

“ I wept the bitterest tears I had ever shed over these 
sad tidings. But what availed my tears?” 

‘ ‘ I still continued to live my double life, receiving the 
homage of the proudest ladies and gentlemen in society, 
and growing every day more cold and bitter, and more 
firmly resolved to rule over the fools who flattered me, 
and whom I hated for the very difference that I knew to 
exist between us. 

“ I do not know how long this might have continued had 
not Percy Townley become a suitor for my hand. I hated 
him, and refused his offer, but by some means he had be- 
come possessed of the secret of my birth, and I must marry 
him, or have the hateful truth revealed. 

“ In a moment of desperation and recklessness I yielded 
to his entreaties, and gave him the promise he required. 

“Then I met your nephew, Arthur Lee, who had been 
my one friend in childhood. From the first moment my 
eyes fell upon his face I hated myself for my deception, 
and knew myself for the despicable creature I was. 

“ Arthur’s honest eyes seemed to read the secrets of my 
wicked heart, and I resolved to give up the struggle, and 
escape to some distant corner of the earth, where I might 
toil for my daily bread unknown and alone. 

4 ‘ For the first time in my life my heart thrilled at the 
sound of a man’s voice, and the touch of his hands on my 
own. For the first time it occurred to me that I might love 
— I, whose love would be a curse. 

‘ ‘ I was deeply affected by these thoughts, and Percy 
Townley found me weeping, with Arthur Lee endeavoring 
to comfort me. 

“Percy ordered me to accompany him to another 
apartment, and I did so, fearing my refusal might lead to 
words between Arthur and himself. You know what fol- 
lowed. 

“ Percy Townley taunted me with my birth, painted the 
consequenees of my refusal to be his wife in such frightful 
colors that I cried out in horror, and Arthur Lee over- 
heard it all. Yet, knowing all, he offers to take me to his 
heart. Oh, God, forgive me, if for a moment I thought of 
yielding to his prayer. 

“Base born though I be, with the blood of a slave flow- 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


129 


ing through these veins, I have a woman's heart, a pas 
sionate heart, whose every throb responds to the sound of 
Arthur Lee’s voice. Dear Heaven, pity me; help me to 
save him!” 

Her last words were broken and inarticulate, and for the 
first time a gleam of something akin to pity flashed from 
the cold eyes of Ralph Delmore, and he ventured to lay his 
hand on her arm, as she swayed backward like one about 
to fall. 

“Be brave, child; your very love for Arthur should 
prompt you to spare him. You know he could never give 
you the 

Leone would not let him finish the sentence, and the 
harsh tone of her voice when she spoke again startled him. 

“You need not attempt to teach me my duty. I have 
given Arthur up ; I will promise no more. He will see that 
the wrongs of the past are righted, and Madeline Clare, 
whom I saw last night alone in the streets, shall no longer 
be deprived of her rights through my continuing to en- 
joy the advantages of the wealth of which you have de- 
prived her.” 

“ Do you mean to threaten me, girl? Rash fool that you 
are, what is to prevent me silencing your too busy tongue,” 
thundered Delmore, advancing threateningly toward her, 
as if to carry his threat into execution. 

The girl faced him fearlessly. 

“Kill me if you will, Ralph Delmore; it would be the 
kindest act you ever performed for me,” she cried, and 
seeing it useless to attempt to frighten her into submission, 
he hit upon another plan by which he hoped to accomplish 
that end. 

“ Leone, there is a reason why you should obey me, and 
shield me from the consequences of any sin I may have 
committed in the past. Listen, while I tell you why it is 
your duty. ■ ’ 

He extended his arms as he spoke, and, as if moved by 
some involuntary impulse of pity or tenderness, drew the 
girl close to him and kept his arms about her, while he 
whispered a few brief sentences in her ear. 

For a moment his words appeared to overcome her. Her 
breath came in quick, panting gasps, from lips that were 
white and cold as those of a corpse, while the warm blood 
seemed turning to ice in her veins. 

“Speak, Leone; you frighten me,” cried Delmore, at last; 
and at the sound of his voice Leone sprung out of his reach, 
quivering and trembling in every limb. 

“ You my father !” she cried, adding, as he shrunk be- 
fore the scorn in her ringing voice: “If anything could 

have added to the hatred I already bore you, it would have 


m 


LITiLE SUNSHINE. 


been the knowledge you have just imparted to me. How 
could you have hoped that the knowledge of the relation- 
ship existing between us would have softened my heart to- 
ward you. The face of my unfortunate young mother 
rises like an accusing spirit between us. I see the poor 
slave kneeling before you in an agony of supplication, 
pleading wildly to be allowed to remain near her child, 
dear to her heart as was your proud wife’s dainty darling. 
I see your face, with its look of supreme indifference and 
contempt, as you spurned the prostrate creature with your 
foot, and heedless of her frantic cries and prayers, tore her 
from the sight of her offspring, to consign her to a fate ten 
thousand times more cruel than death. Oh, my mother ! 
my mother! Oh, God, can such things be?” 

Leone had flung herself face downward on the floor, sob- 
bing hysterically, in a wild abandonment of grief that was 
terrible to witness. 

Ralph Del more’s face had grown strangely pale as he 
listened to her passionate words, and he flung his hands over 
his face as if to shut out the vision of the past they had 
brought so vividly before him. 

”You are mad, girl; when you come to your senses I 
shall have more to say to you,” he said, hoarsely; then, 
turning from her, he almost tottered from the room, lock - 
ing the door on the outside, with a half-defined feeling of 
fear lest to escape his persecutions the poor girl would take 
refuge in flight. 

How long she lay in the position in which he had left her 
Leone never knew. Her maid rapped several times 
on the door, but received no answer, and, thoroughly 
alarmed at last, w~ent to Mrs. Delmore to report the state of 
affairs. 

Mrs. Delmore was somewhat alarmed, and condescended 
to go with the girl to Leone’s door, smelling salts in hand, 
to be prepared in case Leone had taken it into her head to 
commit suicide, or something equally dreadful. 

“Go away! I am ill; Ido not wish to be disturbed,” 
cried Leone, from within, when at last their repeated 
knocking aroused her. 

Mrs. Delmore turned away without a word, angry 
with herself for having exerted herself in behalf of the 
girl from whom she had always held herself aloof in pri- 
vate, although she often caressed and “ my deared’' her 
in public. 

It must have been quite late in the afternoon when Leone 
arose from her prostrate position, and proceeded to change 
her crumpled evening-dress for a close-fitting robe of plain 
black silk, and don a hat and veil. 

Thus attired for the street, she seated herself before her 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


181 


writing-desk —a dainty affair of polished ebony inlaid 
with gold — and hastily wrote a letter, with a hand that did 
not tremble or falter in the task. 

She had succeeded in banishing all traces of emotion now, 
and her face, so cold and pale, looked as if chiseled from 
marble. 

With an author's privilege we will read the words as she 
writes them : 

“ Arthur Lee, — You have told me that you love me as you 
have never loved another woman, and I know you speak 
the truth, but in the years to come you will bless me for 
saving you from yourself. The child of a slave is no fit wife 
for a gentleman, as you will realize when you take time to 
ponder over the step you would have taken. A sublime 
impulse of pity moved you to offer me the shelter of your 
honorable name, and for a moment i weakly yielded to the 
temptation and promised to link my fate with yours ; but 
I have reflected on the terrible wrong I would thus do ;fOu, 
and nothing would now induce me to bring this curse upon 
your life. If I dared lift my sinful eyes to Heaven, I would 
pray God's choicest blessings for you, but prayer on my lips 
would be worse than mockery. Arthur, beloved, when 
these words fall beneath your eyes the hand that penned 
them will be cold in death ; the tortured heart that dictates 
them will have ceased to beat. Leone will be at rest. Only 
death will ease the insufferable agony I am now enduring, 
and though by the act I contemplate I destroy my hopes of 
future happiness, I cannot choose but obey the voice that 
lures me on to seek the oblivion of death. You will pity, 
and not condemn me, I know; and now, Arthur Lee, I am 
going to ask of you the first and last favor I shall ever 
crave at your hands. It is that when I am dead you will 
seek out Madeline Clare, and use every effort in your power 
to restore to her the fortune your uncle, Kaiph Delmore, 
now withholds from her. See that the wrong is righted, 
and Heaven will bless your efforts, and reward you as you 
deserve. Farewell, Arthur, think kindly of the broken- 
hearted and erring girl, whose last thought will be of you, 
and let it comfort you to remember that the only happy 
moments of her wretched life were those in which your arms 
encircled her, and your lips whispered an assurance of your 
love for her.” 

The letter ended abruptly here, and without w r aiting to 
look over it, lest her strength should desert her, Leone 
hastily signed and sealed it, and directed the envelope in a 
firm hand to “ Arthur Lee, Esq., Metropolitan Hotel, New 
York.” 

In the excitement under which she labored, Leone did 


1 32 little s unshine . 

not pause to consider that Arthur had promised to be with 
her long before this hour of the day, or to wonder at his 
non-appearance. 

It will be remembered that Ralph Delmore had locked 
Leone in her room. 

She smiled bitterly when she made this discovery, and 
coolly proceeded to open the door with a key taken from 
her writing-desk, and walk deliberately out of the room, 
past the library — in which Ralph Delmore was engaged in 
writing — and out of the house without meeting any of its 
inmates. 

We will not follow the hapless girl in her wanderings 
during the next few hours, but join her when at last she 
paused be ‘ le a clear stream far away from the crowded 
walks of tn 3 city, and stood for a moment with her eyes 
uplifted to the moon’s passionless white face, her hands 
clasped almost in an attitude of prayer, and her white lips 
moving in a mute appeal for pity and pardon. 

She was blind to the beauty of the lovely autumn night, 
with its fresh, soft breezes, its glittering stars, and its sib 
very moonshine on the gleaming waters. 

It was such a night as a poet might have fancied angelic 
spirits abroad, making radiant and luminous the atmos- 
phere with their pure presence, and every breeze sweet 
with their luscious breath ; but for Leone there was no light 
of stars nor glory of the moon ; her life was like the black- 
est night, with no promise of a brighter morrow. 

She was alone, with the mist of the night around her— 
she who had been, a few brief hours before, the center of 
a brilliant throng, where gayest music had mingled with 
the merry voices of the dancers, and sorrow seemed so far 
away as to be a name, not a reality. 

We are not equal to the task of describing the last act in 
that brief life drama. There was no one near to witness 
the sad scene, no eye but the Eye All Seeing to take note 
of the rash deed, no ear to hear the last agonized prayer 
as the waters closed over the beautiful face of the octoroon’s 
child. 

The water rippled by with just as musical a murmur, 
and the moon shone just as brightly over the scene as be- 
fore, while underneath the waves Leone had found the rest 
she craved, the oblivion of death. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

FRED PAULS. 

“ Life hath its contrasts, its realities, 

Which make humanity itself aghast.” 

When Laura Vereton burst so suddenly into the presence 
of her mother and Di\ Percy Townley, they both knew 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


133 


after the first glance into her pallid face and flashing eyes 
that she had overheard part, if not all, of their conver- 
sation. 

Mrs. Clare hid her guilty face in her hands, shivering 
like a leaf in a gale ; but Towniey showed no signs of fear. 

He stood in the center of the apartment, with his arms 
folded on his breast, glaring at^Laura with an expression 
of insolent defiance. 

Laura was the first to break the embarrassing silence, 
and every word that fell from her lips seemed to pierce the 
heart of the guilty mother like a two-edged sword. 

She had loved her daughter with an affection little short 
of idolatry, and now to hear that daughter’s voice raised 
first to condemn her, uttering the terrible words. “mur- 
deress! poisoner!” was dreadful indeed. 

“ Oh, God spare me!” cried the wretched woman, 
stretching out her trembling hands in mute appeal for 
mercy; but it would seem that Laura was mad for the 
time; her answer to her mother’s prayer was an outburst 
of bitter, terrible laughter, and again Louise Clare cowered 
down on her couch, while the voice of her daughter, cold 
and pitiless, rang through the room like the voice of a 
Nemesis, and Percy Towniey stood aloof in the back- 
ground with a hateful, sarcastic smile on his thin lips, a 
perfect embodiment of Mephistopheles, delighting in the 
sight of his victim’s agony. 

“ I will not shield you; you shall suffer for your crimes. 
I loved my father; had he lived I would have been a better 
and a truer woman to-dav: but you poisoned him, and I 
loathe and despise you. You took my father’s life, and he 
loved and trusted you *. but you shall pay the penalty of 
your crimes, you and your guilty accomplice, this despica- 
ble coward who has lived ail these years on the money 
with which you have supplied him as the price of his 
silence. ’ ’ 

The girl paused here, her voice choked with passion, and 
cast on Towniey a withering glance of hatred and scorn. 

Mrs. Clare had fallen back on her couch, white and 
senseless, and Towniey was forced to make some reply to 
the accusation of the half -maddened girl. He was still 
smiling as if vastly amused, but it was a murderous smile, 
and might have intimidated a braver woman than Laura 
Vereton, whose eyes fell before his sinister gaze at last, 
much to his satisfaction. 

“ Not so fast, my pretty one,” he said, with a light laugh 
and a covert sneer. “Don’t threaten your mamma; it 
would be rather unpleasant for you to repeat the story you 
have just told so tragically in a court of justice, and be- 
sides, my lady -bird, what would become of you if you did 


3 34 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


succeed in exposing her? You would be banished from so- 
ciety; the mother's sin would be visited on your head, 
until you would be glad to hide yourself from the sight of 
all who had ever known you. Oscar Hemmingway would 
turn from you with horror, and in all the world there 
would be no place for you. Ha, ha! You thought to 
frighten me, did you? Why, you poor little worm, I could 
crush you as easily as I crush this dainty toy in my 
hand.” 

He had beeff leaning with one elbow on the low mantel, 
and as lie spoke the last words he broke into a dozen pieces 
the pretty ivory paper cutter with which he had been idly 
toying. 

There was something in this simple act, as well as in the 
tone in which the words were spoken, that caused Laura 
to shrink from him with a shudder of actual fear. 

He noticed this, and a triumphant gleam shot from his 
dark eyes. 

For one brief moment he had feared that the enraged 
girl would betray him, but the fear w T as quickly banished. 

He knew Laura Vereton’s selfish nature too well to har- 
bor for any length of time the idea that she would thus 
voluntarily destroy her own prospects. 

In the first moment of horror, and regret for the parent 
she had loved, she had given way to the passion aroused 
by the knowledge of her mother’s crime, but Dr. Townley 
knew that when she had time for reflection she would see 
the folly of the course she had threatened to pursue, and 
so he chose by his indifference to teach her that he did not 
fear her. 

‘‘Leave me; you are a fiend,” she whispered, hoarsely; 
but Townley affected not to have heard her words ; and to 
escape his hated presence, Laura herself left the room, 
staggering like a person under the influence of liquor, and 
keeping her eyes turned resolutely away from the inani- 
mate figure on the sofa. 

“ I do not think she will cause me any trouble. There is 
more to be feared from yonder weak fool, who will yet 
betray her secret to the world, and drag me down with her 
when she falls.” 

Townley was looking angrily and contemptuously toward 
the senseless woman as he spoke thus, and, as if the steady 
gaze disturbed her, she stirred, and opened her big, blue 
eyes. 

Townley did not give her time to speak ; he seized her 
arm, almost rudely, and helped her to rise to a sitting 
posture. 

** House yourself, Louise; in Heaven’s name do not give 
way like this. There is nothing to fear from Laura. I 


LITTLE ' SUNSHINE. 


185 


have taught her her duty. Do you hear me, Louise? Why 
do you stare at me so strangely ? Great Heaven ! I be 
lieve the woman is going mad!” 

“No, no; I am sane, perfectly sane. What is it you 
want of me? Tell me quickly, and leave me! Oh, my 
child ! my child ! I would have given twenty lives, had I 
possessed them, to have spared her the knowledge of her 
mother’s frightful crimes.” 

The mother’s face was so convulsed with grief and fear 
that it was scarcely to be wondered at that Townley had 
believed for a moment that she was losing her reason. 

He was greatly relieved to find his suspicion groundless, 
and hastened to conclude his business with her and take 
his departure. 

“ You understand what I want, Louise, the little vial 
which has done you such good service. I have no use for 
it, you know, my dear, but I fear to leave it in your pos- 
session, lest in your present desperate mood you might 
have recource to" it to mitigate your sufferings. Don’t look 
so horrified, chere amie. Get me the vial and let me go, 
the air of this house does not agree with me.” 

Louise Clare arose slowly to her feet, pressing her hands 
over her temples with a gesture supreme in its mute an- 
guish. 

“Percy! oh, Percy, be merciful ! Do not drive me mad. 
Let me destroy the accursed stuff. Oh, let there be no 
more sin — think of my sufferings during all these dreadful 
years. Sleeping or waking I am haunted by the faces of 
my victims. The phantoms come to me robed in them 
dreadful graveclothes, crying in my ears the dreadful word, 
4 murderess. ’ I have not long to live, I know it. I feel 
sure that my end is drawing nigh. Oh, Percy Townley, by 
the memory of my years of faithful servitude, by all you 
hold sacred, I conjure you to abandon the wicked scheme 
you ” 

Townley would not allow her to proceed further. 

She had clasped both her hands around his arm in her 
excitement, and he shook them roughly off, repeating his 
demand for the little vial. Plalf an hour later he left the 
house, and by the expression of his face it was plain that 
he had not failed in getting what he had demanded. As he 
hurried toward his hotel — the Metropolitan — his brain was 
busy with evil thoughts and wicked schemes. 

“ If it had not been for this accursed singer, Arthur Lee, 
I should have had things my own way,” he muttered, 
clinching his hands as if he had his enemy in his grasp. 
“ How fortunate that he should stop at my hotel of all 
others. He does not know that I am an inmate of the 
Metropolitan, and I can watch him, and prevent his win- 


ning the prize for which I have played such a desperate 
game. If all else fails, this little vial shall aid me. Poor 
Louise ! I almost pitied her to-night, she looked like a 
hunted animal at bay, desperate enough for anything. She 
looked so strangly at me when she spoke of dying. I won- 
der if her forebodings will amount to anything — bah ! I am 
growing as superstitious as an old woman. I too have 
been haunted by a dim foreshadowing of some coming 
evil. I cannot account for it, but the face of that dark- 
browed musician, Fred Pauls, whom I saw for the first 
time in Ralph Delmore's parlors to-night, keeps rising be- 
fore me like a specter. Once to-night I caught his great 
black eyes fixed upon me with a glance that I could have 
sworn was expressive of hatred and a desire for revenge. Of 
whom did those eyes remind me? Oh, God! I remember 
those eyes, black, with a tinge of gold in their depths — the 
eyes of Lurline — powers of darkness ! if this man should 
be ” 

At this stage of his reflections, Townley arrived at his 
hotel, and made his way directly to his own rooms. He 
did not seek his couch, however, his mind was too much 
excited to allow of rest, and morning found him looking 
pale and hollow-eyed. 

The daylight was streaming into the room when he threw 
himself on his bed, dressed as he was, and fell into a light 
slumber, from which he was awakened by the sound of 
heavy footsteps on the landing outside his door, and the 
subdued voices of the men who carried the senseless form 
of Arthur Lee to the chamber directly next Townley ’s own. 

u What is the matter?” Townley asked of a waiter who 
stood near his door. 

‘ k A gentleman hurt, sir ; the singing gentleman who has 
room 74, ” the waiter answered, wondering what meant the 
quick, almost joyous cry with which Townley received this 
intelligence. 

A few moments later, and the physician who had been 
hastily summoned to attend Arthur left the hotel, consign- 
ing his charge to Dr. Percy Townley, who declared himself 
a personal friend of the sufferer. 

“There is no hope; we cannot save his life,” Townley 
declared from the first, and as the first physician had like- 
wise given it as his opinion that Arthur was doomed to die, 
the news spread rapidly throughout the hotel that the 
popular tenor singer— who was to have made his first bow 
to an American audience at the Academy of Music the next 
evening— was dying. 

It does not take news of that kind long to spread, and 
before noontime it had been pretty well circulated thi'ough 
out the city. 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


137 


Among those who heard it with keen regret was the 
dark-faced, handsome man who had admired Arthur Lee’s 
fair, Saxon beauty in Ralph Delmore’s rooms the night 
before. 

Fred Pauls had felt himself strangely drawn toward 
the opera singer, and his first impulse prompted him 
to go directly to the Metropolitan, in the hope of learn- 
ing that things were not as bad as they had been repre- 
sented. 

He was sadly disappointed to find that his hopes were 
futile. He learned, on applying to the bookkeeper, that 
there was no chance of Arthur Lee’s recovery. 

‘ ‘ Poor fellow, poor fellow ! Has he any friends attend 
ing him?” asked Pauls. 

“Oh, yes, sir; the doctor in attendance on him is an in- 
timate friend, I believe. Do you know him, sir ? Dr. Town- 
ley, I mean — Dr. Percy Townley. ’ ’ 

Pauls did not answer this question. At the mention of 
the name “Percy Townley,” he had started and turned 
pale. 

At this moment the letter-carrier brought in the evening 
mail. There were several letters for Percy Townley, and 
one, in a woman’s dainty handwriting, for Arthur Lee. 

“John, take up these letters to Dr. Townley; and, here, 
John, you may take this one for Mr. Lee, poor gentleman! 
Dr. Townley is his friend, and will know best what to do 
with it,” said the bookkeeper, and when John started off 
on his errand the former was surprised to see that Mr. 
Pauls followed him to the very door of the room occupied 
by Dr. Townley. 

Dr. Townley was not in his own room, however, but in 
the adjoining chamber in attendance on his patient. 

The door of Townley ’s room was open, and Pauls entered, 
saying to the waiter : 

“John, I will wait here until Dr. Townley leaves his 

E atient ; you need not tell him, I do not wish to disturb 
im.” 

John looked somewhat puzzled, but the crisp, new green- 
back thrust into his hand by Pauls reassured him and he 
readily promised to obey. 

In the meanwhile Percy Townley was bending over the 
couch of the injured man in the ‘next room, eagerly scan- 
ning the white face, and listening to the quick-drawn, 
labored breath. 

His own face was strangely pale, and as lie continued to 
gaze on his patient his countenance assumed an expression 
of keen disappointment. 

“ He is reviving; despite every precaution I have taken 
to prevent it he is likely to recover, Curse him! he shall 


138 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


not live to foil me. Leone will hear of his condition and 
she is just the girl to defy the world’s opinion and come to 
him. She would nurse him back to health, and then— but 
why should I worry over impossibilities— Arthur Lee shall 
not live to be tended by her.” 

There was an expression of devilish resolve on the doc- 
tor’s face as he muttered these last words, and his hand 
went instinctively to the pocket in which was concealed the 
vial he had obtained from Louise Clare. Arthur turned his 
head restlessly on his pillows, and muttered some unintel- 
ligible words which seemed to strengthen Townley’s fiend- 
ish resolve. 

44 It is time for your medicine, my boy, you shall have a 
dose that will ease your pain this" time, and no one will 
suspect what has silenced you. That old fool of a doctor 
whom they first called to attend you gave no hope what- 
ever of your recovery, and your death is looked for every 
moment. ’ ’ 

During this soliloquy Townley had been preparing some 
medicine in a small wine-glass, into which he had first 
dropped a few drops of a colorless liquid from the tiny vial 
of which we have spoken. 

He shut his teeth hard, and closed his eyes, as he lifted 
the head of the sufferer from the pillow, and held to the 
white lips the fatal draught. 

At this instant the door of communication between his 
own room and that of the patient was flung noiselessly open, 
and Fred Pauls darted to the bedside and wrenched the 

g lass from Townley’s hand before one drop of its contents 
ad entered Arthur’s lips. 

It would be useless attempting to describe the expression 
of rage and terror on Townley’s face when he gazed into 
the countenance of Arthur’s savior. 

“ Good God ! who are you and how came you here?” he 
managed at last to articulate, leaning against the head- 
board of the bed for support. 

4 ‘ It was G od himself who sent me here to prevent you 
from steeping your guilty soul yet deeper in crime. Can 
you not guess at my identity, Percy Townley. Let me re- 
fresh your memory, The world knows me as Fred Pauls. 
I have made a neat little fortune by my skill as a musician 
and composer of music, but when you knew me, years ago, 
I w r as a poor boy whose only relati ve on earth was a gentle 
young sister, a delicate girl, with a fair, flower-like face, 
and hair like God’s own sunshine. We were all the world 
to each other until you came around her with your honeyed 
words and false flattery. She loved you, and you married 
her : but alas! you tired of her before the flowers of that 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. m 

brief summer had faded; and my darling's heart was 
breaking. 

“She faded like a sensitive plant touched by a rude north 
wind; but her changed face awoke no throb of pity in your 
heart. You neglected her shamefully, and on one fatal 
day, when she dared to reproach you for your unkindness, 
and begged, with clasped hands and streaming eyes, to be 
taken once more to your false heart, you raised your cruel 
arm and struck her, and she fell like a log at your feet. 
The blow killed her— my beautiful Lurline — and I, a sickly 
child, without a dollar in the 1 world, was unable to avenge 
her; but I have lived only to accomplish that end, and now, 
Percy Townley, my time has come. It needed not this new 
proof of your villainy to make my vengeance complete, for 
skillfully as you covered up all traces of your guilt years 
ago, there is a witness forthcoming who saw you strike the 
blow that deprived my sister of life. Your life for the last 
five years is an open book to me. I have traveled all over 
the world, but your movements have been reported to me 
with their minutest detail — such is the power of gold. I 
know of vour connection with the Widow Clare, and also 
your designs on the daughter of the gentleman at wTiose 
house I met you last night, and for whose sake you 
were about to poison this poor fellow whom I arrived 
just in time to save. This poisoned medicine is a fresh 
proof of your rascality — ah, no! Mr. Townley, put up 
your pistol. I am a dead shot, they tell me, and you see I 
am also supplied with one of those deadly little weapons, 
and shall not hesitate to use it if you move one step from 
your present position until I have summoned the officers to 
remove you from this room !’ ’ 

Pauls was holding his pistol in such a position that it 
aimed directly at Towniey’s heart, while he (Pauls) was 
backing slowly toward the bell-rope. 

In the excitement of the moment neither of the men 
thought of glancing toward the bed, or they would have 
seen that Arthur Lee’s eyes were open, and fixed upon 
them in a horrified gaze. 

Pauls reached the bell -cord and rang repeatedly, while 
Townley stood like one literally paralyzed, utterly incapa- 
ble of speech or motion. 

The sound of footsteps coming hurriedly up the stairs 
seemed to arouse him at last, and he looked around him 
wildly, as if meditating flight, but the dark, stern face of 
Fred Pauls was before him, cold and relentless as fate, and 
the little instrument of death he held still pointed to his 
(Towniey’s) heart. 

“ The game is up; it is useless to prolong the fight. I 
never craved mercy at the hands of God or man, and 


140 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


thus, Fred Pauls, do I escape your threatened venge 
ance,” he cried, in a hoarse, determined voice, and, be- 
fore Pauls could spring on him to prevent the act, he had 
turned his pistol toward his forehead, pulled the trigger, 
and fell to the floor without a groan, shot through the 
brains. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

A SACRED CHARGE. 

“ Death came to him 
Like a friend’s voice 
From a distant held, calling.” 

The tragedy recorded in the last chapter created intense 
excitement throughout the hotel, and, indeed, throughout 
the entire city, and curious crowds gathered round the 
building during the day that followed, while a thousand 
different rumors were circulated as to the motive for the 
dreadful deed, all of which, as may be supposed, were wide 
of the truth. 

At first Fred Pauls was suspected of having fired the 
fatal shot, but the doctors discovered at once that it had been 
the work of the deceased’s own hand, and an unexpected 
witness testified to the truth of their assertion, in the per 
son of Arthur Lee, who was able to describe what he had 
seen in that dreadful time. 

Percy Townley was dead, and Pauls did not care to cast 
a stone at his memory. Let his sins be buried out of sight 
v ith his remains. 

He had gone before the great and just Judge to whom all 
hearts are known. 

Fred Pauls would not leave the bedside of Arthur Lee, 
who continued to improve rapidly, and did not lose con- 
sciousness after the death of Townley. 

His whole thought during the hours that followed the 
tragedy was of Leone — poor Leone, who perhaps thought 
he had deserted her, and was grieving over his perfidy. 

“Write for me, kind friend, write what I shall dictate 
to you,” he pleaded, and when Pauls sat by him, pen and 
paper in hand, he began to dictate a letter to Leone, butbe- 
iore Pauls had put his pen to the paper he remembered 
the letter which had come to the hotel for Arthur, and 
which he had forgotten in the excitement consequent on 
Townley’ s death. 

“ Perhaps this letter is from the lady you would write 
to. Had I best read it for you?” he asked, but Arthur held 
out. his trembling hand for it, saying, with a glad smile 
—the last smile that ever crossed his lips- 


LITTLE SUNSHINE 


141 


u The sight of this little message has given me new life, 
my friend. Let me read it myself, 

Pauls raised him higher on the pillows, and sat a little 
way from the bedside, while Arthur opened and read 
Leone's last message and farewell. 

He did not utter a word or cry, but Pauls, watching his 
face, saw it change as if the death-angel’s hand had touched 
it. 

His head dropped heavily back upon his pillows, and he 
turned his eyes on Pauls with an expression the latter 
never forgot. 

4 4 My friend,” he said, softly, “I said this message would 
give me new life. It has, indeed— -it has brought me nearer 
to the life eternal. 1 ’ 

Pauls could not speak, there was something so solemn 
and awful in the tone in which these words were uttered. 

For a moment there was silence in the sick-room, and 
then Arthur called the watcher to his bedside. 

Pauls still held the pen and paper, and seated himself 
before the table near the bedside, as if to write ; but Arthur 
motioned him to lay the writing materials aside. 

* “She is dead,” he said, in the same low voice. “ She is 
dead, my friend ; and if you will listen I will tell you the 
story of her wretched life, my peerless Leone.” 

Again there was a moment’s silence, broken only by the 
sick man’s labored breathing, and then he began, in a 
voice growing every moment fainter, to repeat the sub- 
stance of the story we heard from the lips of Leone, the 
story of Ralph Delmore’s cruel act, and Townley’s perse- 
cution of Leone, ending by showing Pauls Leone’s last 
letter. 

“ She has left me a sacred charge to find Madeline Clare, 
and restore her to the position she should occupy, but I 
cannot do my poor darling’s work, for ere many hours 
have fled I shall be at rest. Do not shake your head, kind 
friend, I know that I am dying, and if it were not for this 
work Leone left me to do, I should be glad to die, for I am 
weary, and since she is gone life holds no joys for. me.” 

Fred Pauls had clasped both of Arthur’s hands in his 
own while the latter had been speaking, and now he said 
solemnly : 

“ Listen to me, Arthur Lee. God grant that your fears 
may be groundless. God in His infinite mercy, grant that 
you may live ; but if it is His will to call you, let this thought 
comfort your last hours : I shall do the work you leave un- 
done ! One week ago we were strangers, but some mys- 
terious power drew me to you from the hour of our first 
meeting, and now I feel that your wrongs are mine to 
avenge. You and I had one common enemy — Percy Town- 

r 

•- 


14 3 


LITTLE SUNSHINE \ 


ley. He is dead, but it remains for me to undo some of 
his evil work. I have had no aim in life but to unearth his 
crimes, and now that he is gone, I swear to devote myself 
to the task of finding this Madeline Clare, and restoring to 
her the money of which she has been defrauded. Does 
this promise comfort you? Will you trust me to perform, 
this work faithfully, my poor friend?” 

Arthur had no need to answer. The expression of grati- 
tude on his pale face bore witness of his thankfulness, and 
his hands closed tightly around the fingers that clasped his 
own, nor loosened their grasp until the hour of midnight, 
when, with the name of 14 Leone ” on his lips, and his eyes 
growing bright for a moment, as if catching a glimpse of 
the beauties of the city beyond the jasper gates, then glaz- 
ing with the dimness of death, his spirit soared upward 
to the God who gave it, and the icy fingers that never again 
would grasp a friendly hand on earth relaxed their hold, 
and fell upon the little message Leone had written in her 
despair. 

Pauls closed the lids over the sightless eyes, and folded 
the hands over the stilled heart before calling assistance, 
and then went forth to fulfill his vow to the dead, for night 
nor day should find him idle, until he had performed the 
sacred trust he had undertaken. 

Thus another friend of Madeline Clare’s arose to restore 
the poor child to something of her former happiness. Will 
he be in time to save her from the dreaded union with Basil 
Brandon? 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

ROMANCE AND MYSTERY IN HIGH LIFE. 

“ ’Twas here that her garments rustled, 

Like music among the flowers, 

And her low, sweet, rippling laughter 
Made richer the rose- wreathed bowers. 

“ But now in the moonlight’s brightness 
The place seems cold and dead; 

And it lies like a form of beauty 
When the light of the soul has fled.” 

After a lapse of four weeks — four weeks during which 
many strange changes have occurred, and many strange 
scenes been enacted in the lives of the different characters 
in our story— we visit again the mansion formerly owned by 
Lester Clare, the house whose walls had once echoed to the 
music of Little Sunshine’s childish laughter and trilling, 
bird-like voice. 

It was a glorious autumn night, and the white, silvery 
light of the moon flooded the streets of our great, busy 


LITTLE SUNSHINE , 


143 


city, shining just as brightly over the haunts of vice and 
misery as over the princely dwellings of the rich and happy, 
and touching with its soft, hallowed light many an icy, 
upturned face and silent form from which the spirit had 
fled, perhaps to soar to some glorious land beyond the 

brightness of moon and stars, or, perhaps God pity 

us! We cannot follow the freed spirit in its flight to the 
worlds of the infinite ; none ever return to tell us the secrets 
of that unexplored country. 

The white, cold moonlight fell that night upon one dead 
face, upturned amid the fragrance of hot-house flowers 
and the beauty of costly surroundings — the face of a woman 
who had been beautiful and courted, but over whose re- 
mains there were none to weep or keep a loving vigil dur- 
ing the silent watches of the night. 

Long streamers of crape on the silver door-bell told the 
passers-by of the presence of death in the household, and 
while some regarded it with a sigh as they pictured the 
time when they too must answer death’s summons, others 
would coolly remark : 

“Mrs. Clare is dead. I suppose Laura inherits all her 
mother’s fortune; another prize for the matrimonial lot- 
tery. Wonder who will be the lucky winner.” 

Yes ; Louise Clare was dead. The guilty heart had broken 
when the news of Percy Townley’s tragic end was borne to 
her ears, for the wretched woman had loved the man who 
had been her tempter, and whose slave she had been dur- 
ing many dreadful years. 

“Paralysis,” the physician had laconically explained, 
when they lifted the unfortunate woman from the floor, 
where she had fallen on receipt of the fatal tidings. 

They bore her to her luxurious chamber, whence she was 
carried only to be laid in a costly casket just where Lester 
Clare had lain, with flowers, the emblems of innocence and 
purity, resting as if in mockery on the brow that had been 
stained with the brand of Cain. 

She had been speechless from the first hour of her illness, 
and unable to move even a finger, but her big blue eyes 
seemed to be imploring them to help her, and her suffer- 
ings they could see were intense. 

Once she seemed to make a superhuman effort to speak, 
and two words burst from her stiffening lips, the words, 
“Madeline, justice.” 

At the last it was evident that she would fain have done 
justice to the girl she had wronged, but her repentance had 
come too late, for even while the last words lingered on the 
ears of the watchers around her bedside, her soul had gone 
to meet its Maker. 

On the night of which we write, while the remains of the 


144 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 

mother who had idolized her lay alone in the dimly-lighted 
parlor, Laura Vereton sat by an open window in her own 
chamber, with the moonlight shining on her pale, set face, 
and lighting up the cold, blue eyes, in which there were no 
traces of tears. The girl had not wept for her mother, her 
brain was busy, and her heart full of other troubles, and 
just now there was a dangerous contraction of her brows, 
and a cold, pitiless glance in the pale-blue eyes as she un- 
consciously muttered her thoughts aloud. 

‘ ‘ Shall I give up my vengeance, now that it is in my 
grasp? In her last hour my mother — whose whole life has 
been a lie, and whose every breath was drawn in sin— 
would fain have restored Madeline Clare to the position 
she is entitled to occupy in the world ; shall I carry out her 
work of atonement? Bah! Why should I let the memory 
of her dying look haunt me? Madeline Clare stole from 
me the heart of the man whose wife I was to have been. I 
swore to be revenged on him for his desertion of me, and, 
thanks to the working- girl, Lydia Barton, my opportunity 
has come. I promised to give up all hope of becoming the 
wife of Oscar Hemmingway if Lydia would remove Made- 
line Clare to some place of concealment in time to prevent 
the marriage between her and Basil Brandon. Lydia has 
succeeded in doing this so cunningly that it is generally be- 
lieved that Madeline, otherwise known as Lina Clark," has 
put an end to her own life. Basil keeps up a continued 
search for her, and they say he is almost frantic ; but he 
will forget his grief in time, and then — oh, Basil! Basil! 
perhaps then there may be some hope for me ; you loved 
me once before her fair face came between us, and 
now ” 

Laura bowed her head, and wept wildly now— passion- 
ate, bitter, and rebellious tears that seemed to burn and 
sear her very heart. 

A knock upon the door caused her to lift her head at last, 
and in answer to her invitation a servant entered with the 
evening papers. 

“Please, Miss Laura, here are the papers; you know 
you told me to bring them to you, else I wouldn’t have dis- 
turbed you, ’ 1 said the domestic, timidly, and Laura took 
the papers from her without a word, motioning the girl to 
leave her, as one might dismiss a dog. 

Once more alone Laura opened the evening papers with 
hands that trembled nervously. 

She could never account for the feeling that prompted her 
to peruse the papers so eagerly and yet fearfully. 

There had been a brief account of the disappearance of 
Lina Clark, and afterward quite a sensational article headed 
“ Romance and* Mystery in High Life,” and going on to 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


145 


tell that the little working-girl whose disappearance had 
been briefly alluded to in a previous issue, it had been as- 
certained was the only daughter of the late Lester Clare, 
whose name had been so widely known and universally 
loved. 

The writer of the article dwelt largely on the girl’s grace 
and beauty, and went on to state that she was betrothed to 
a wealthy book publisher and had only left her father’s 
home on account of some unpleasantness with her step' 
mother. 

The article concluded with these words : 

“The gentleman who was to have been Miss Clare’s hus- 
band is nearly frantic, and fears are entertained that his 
reason is impaired. It is reported that insanity runs in the 
family, the gentleman’s father being at present an inmate 
of an asylum for the insane.” 

Laura read these words with paling face and wildly 
throbbing heart. She remembered to have seen at times 
an unusual glitter and a strangely wild look in Basil’s eyes, 
and noticed the peculiar restlessness and nervous twitching 
of his face that had puzzled Madeline on the day of her 
(Madeline’s) meeting with him on Willow Street. 

Laura glanced carefully through the columns of the 
papers the maid had given her, now r suddenly uttering a 
sharp cry and breathing with quick, short gasps. 

Where now was her vengeance? Basil Brandon had been 
carried off to the asylum in w T hich his father was confined, 
a raving maniac. 

All hope of winning him back to his old allegiance was 
now forever dissipated, and when Laura Vereton tried to 
look her future in the face there was nothing before her 
but darkness, deep and impenetrable. Her mother dead, 
Basil Brandon immured within the walls of a madhouse, 
and even Oscar Hemming w 7 ay lost to her, for if she at- 
tempted to exert her old influence over the rich manufact- 
urer would not Lydia Barton bring against her the leaf 
torn from her diary, the reading of wdiich would cause 
Hemmingw^ay to cast her off with scorn. What remained 
for her to do? Was she to live alone in this ghostly house 
which had been the scene of so much crime and misery ? 
Laura shuddered at the thought, and a wild impulse seized 
her to fly from it even now, before the cold, senseless thing 
in the room below was hidden under the earth ; but her 
better sense helped her to banish the insane notion, and by 
and by she was again, to all appearances, her old proud 
self. 

There was nothing so very terrible in her position, she 
told herself, at least she would inherit her mother’s fort- 
une; but even while she comforted herself with this 


146 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


thought the face of Madeline Clare seemed to rise before 
her, and she brought her hands together with a gesture of 
despair. 

“ I see how it will end,’’ she muttered. 4 ‘ I cannot keep 
Madeline always in concealment ; I— I am not bad enough 
to destroy her life, and yet, if she escapes, she will reveal 
all ; she will no longer hesitate to tell the secret of the death 
chamber. I understand why she could not live beneath 
this roof. She learned in that fatal hour the true cause of 
her father’s death, and he, for the honor of his proud 
name, made her promise never to betray his wife, his guilty 
wife, Avho had caressed him while she held the poison to 
his lips. Now that mamma is dead Madeline will be no 
longer silent. She knows that it is by my orders she has 
been deprived of her liberty, and when she is released she 
will not spare me. How can I live through the shame of 
the exposure that will follow? I shall be looked upon with 
loathing by those who have called themselves my friends, 
and -but why speculate on such a frightful theme? Made- 
line Clare shall not triumph over me, though to prevent it 
I stain my soul with the crime ” 

Laura’s mutterings ceased here, and her face was hidden 
in her clasped hands, while strong shudders shook her 
frame ; but, when at last she lifted her eyes, there was in 
them a look that boded little good to the girl whom she 
hated, and who was in her power. 

Leaving her with her evil thoughts, in the solitude of 
that house of death, we will follow the movements of 
Frederic Pauls, the man who had sworn to be Madeline’s 
friend. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

REPENTANCE. 

“ True repentance never comes too late; 

As soon as born she makes herself a shroud, 

The weeping mantle of a fleecy cloud, 

And swift as thought her airy journey takes; 

Her hand Heaven’s azure gate with trembling strikes 
The stars do with amazement on her look; 

She tells her story in so sad a tone, 

That angels start from bliss and give a groan.” 

From the hour in which the eyes of Arthur Lee had 
closed in death, it became the object of Fred Pauls’ life to 
follow out the last wishes of the man for whom he had 
entertained such a warm feeling of friendship. 

He was a keen and skilled detective, and he set to work 
with a cunning worthy one of the ablest professionals, to 
unravel the mystery that enveloped the movements of 
Lester Clare’s daughter. 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


147 


He visited frequently the home of Ralph Delmore, who, 
although to outward appearance he mourned sincerely the 
sad death of his daughter, was secretly exultant at the 
thought of being freed from the fears she had excited in 
his breast of late, the fear that Leone would betray his 
long cherished secret. 

Arthur Lee and Percy Townley who, as he believed, were 
the only other persons in possession of the secret, had both 
been removed from his path as if by a merciful interposi- 
tion of the powers that ruled his fate, and it was with diffi - 
culty he could preserve a becoming semblance of sorrow. 

Pauls he considered as his friend, and never dreamed 
that the latter was destined to hurl the bolt that would 
destroy him. 

Slowly but surely, with the patience and cunning of a 
sleuth-hound, step by step, hour by hour, and day by day 
Fred Pauls worked to attain his end, the accomplishment 
of his vow to the dead. 

We will not follow him through the weary paths he was 
forced to tread ; enough that before the day on which Louise 
Clare had died he had traced Madeline’s movements up to 
the time when Lydia Barton lured her from the workshop 
to some place of concealment. 

He knew of her residence in the house of the poet, Aud- 
iey Vernon, of the latter’s love for her, and of her promise 
to marry Basil Brandon, although of the means by which 
the latter had forced this promise from her Pauls was ig- 
norant. 

He had learned also of the mysterious disappearance of 
the negro, Sam, and quickly discovered where the latter 
was confined, and obtained permission of the authorities to 
visit him in his prison. 

The interview with the negro was of little benefit to him, 
how T ever, for Sam could not be prevailed upon to believe 
him a friend of Madeline’s, and preserved a stubborn 
silence. 

Pauls next interviewed Oscar Hemmingway, but with no 
better success. By some means best known to herself, 
Lydia Barton had succeeded in poisoning her employer’s 
mind against Lina Clark, and in reply to Pauls’ earnest in- 
quiries, he coolly affirmed that he neither knew nor cared to 
know anything of Miss Clark’s movements. 

Annoyed, but not disheartened or discouraged, Pauls 
again sought Audley Vernon, whose love for the girl he 
guessed at the first sight of Audley ’s face when her name 
was mentioned. 

Now for the first time Audley listened to the true story 
of Madeline’s life. 

When he thought her poor and homeless he had trusted 


148 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


and loved her, and would gladly have taken her to his 
brave, true heart, but with the knowledge of her high po- 
sition and wealth came a resolve never again to seek to win 
her. 

He had never forgotten the look he had seen on her face 
as she stood by Nettie’s coffin. 

All the agony of a hopeless love, all the bitter pain it was 
costing her to tear herself from him was stamped upon it, 
and when she had gone from his sight the conviction had 
dawned upon him that Basil Brandon was forcing her to the 
step she was taking by the exercise of some fatal power he 
held over her. 

This thought had filled the poet's heart with a wild hope. 
He would seek Brandon, and compel the latter to tell him 
the truth. 

He never thought of the difference in their worldly posi- 
tions, he gave no heed to the fact that Brandon had it in 
his power to dash to earth all the bright hopes he (Vernon) 
had indulged in; the only thought he harbored was an in 
tense and unconquerable desire to free the girl he loved 
from the fetters this man would have forged around her, 
but fate had decreed that wl ien the clouds were gathering 
darkest around the path of his loved one, the poet-lover 
should be powerless to aid her. 

Three days after the burial of Nettie Smith, Audley 
Vernon had been stricken with a disease that threatened 
to prove fatal, and for many days he lay at the point 
of death, watched over by his almost broken-hearted 
mother. 

“Oh, God, spare my boy!” was the wild petition that 
went up from her quivering lips, and perhaps it was in an- 
swer to her prayers that the beloved life was given her, for 
Audley came slowly back from the shores of the river 
of death, and it seemed as if her very soul went forth 
in the rapturous cry of thanksgiving. “My God, I thank 
thee!” 

Audley was still weak as a little child when Fred Pauls 
came to him, but he roused himself to help the latter in his 
search for Madeline, and from that hour they worked 
together, confident of success. 

They soon discovered that Lydia Barton, one of the girls 
working in the factory in which Madeline had been em- 
ployed, was in the habit of visiting Laura Vereton, also 
that this same Lydia Barton had always entertained feel 
ings of jealousy and hatred toward Madeline. 

They speedily arrived at the conclusion that these two 
girls were aware of Madeline’s hiding-place, and resolved 
to watch them both, Audley Vernon agreeing to keep Lydia 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 140 

under constant watch while Pauls would keep his eyes on 
Laura Vereton. 

The death of Laura's mother occurred about this time, 
and the girl kept herself secluded, so that the amateur de- 
tectives were forced tc remain inactive. 

One day, the second after Louisa Clare’s funeral, as Fred 
Pauls was walking briskly down Broadway, on some er 
rand connected with the work to which he had pledged 
himself, an event occurred that was destined to aid him in 
the attainment of his object. 

He noticed for some time a man reeling from side to side 
of the pavement just ahead of him, a ragged, wretched- 
looking creature, who had probably been thrown out of 
some of the grog-shops, where his last penny had been 
spent for the vile poison that had reduced him to his pres- 
ent miserable plight. 

Pauls paid not much heed to the drunken creature, be- 
yond a careless glance of mingled pity and disgust, until 
the latter attempted to cross the busy thoroughfare at a 
point where carriages, stages, and trucks were continually 
passing up and down. 

“Back, man! back!” shouted Pauls, as the drunkard 
plunged recklessly into the midst of the crowd of passing 
vehicles, but the warning came too late; the miserable 
creature staggered and fell, and cries of horror rent the air 
as the passers-by saw him trampled beneath the feet of a 
pair of spirited carriage-horses. 

Fred Pauls accompanied the officers who carried the man 
to the nearest police station, and stood near while the sur- 
geon examined his injuries. 

“It’s no good — he’s dying fast,” was the careless de- 
cision, and at the sound of these words the poor w T retch 
opened his eyes, and cast a glance of horror around him. 

“Dyin’,” he gasped. “Oh, God! don’t say that; don’t 
tell me I’m a-dyin’.” 

“ It is best that you should know the truth; there is not 
another hour of life for you, ’ ’ said Pauls, bending over the 
dying man with looks of compassion, and going on to tell 
him of the merciful Saviour who would hear the prayers 
of even such as he, if he would lift his heart to Heaven in 
this solemn hour. 

Pauls’ voice was clear and thrilling, and great tears rolled 
down the cheeks of the sufferer as he told of the thief on 
the cross who had been saved at the eleventh hour. 

“A thief! did yer say, sir?” he cried. “A thief! Oh, 
sir! that’s what Tve been all my life. He can’t forgive 
me. I’m a lost wretch, lost — lost — lost!” 

After this last wild, despairing cry, they thought that 


150 


LITTLE 8UJS&MINE. 


the man was dead; but he suddenly rallied, and seeing 
Pauls’ face still bending over him, he cried : 

“ On& wrong I can undo; one face haunts me — a nigger’s 
face— a nigger who is serving out his time for a crime as 
was done by me ” 

The man’s voice was growing weaker, but Pauls forced 
some liquor between his lips, and, trembling with excite- 
ment, begged him to continue his confession. Thus urged, 
the man went on to narrate the scene we witnessed in the 
chop-house, when poor Sam’s bundle was seized, and the 
stolen goods put in its place. 

“ The nigger was taken for a thief, and I was one of the 
witnesses who appeared agin him. He wouldn’t tell where 
he came from, or what he was a-doin’, an’ o’ course they 
condemned him; but I thought the judge would ha’ let him 
go at one time. I never seen sich a time as there was in 
that ere courtroom when the nigger got down on his 
knees before the judge, an’ begged to be let keep some 
papers as the judge was a-goin 1 to take from him. I 
a’ most swore that I’d get them papers then, an’ I even 
thought of gittin’ inter the prison so I could steal them 
from him, for I heard him mutter that they were the fort- 
une of his 4 little missy,’ his 4 dead massa’s Little Sunshine.’ 
I needn’t tell you stranger how hard I tried to get a hold 
of them ere documents, hopin’ to make somethin’ out o' 
them, but all plans failed ; the nigger would ha’ died to 
preserve them, an’ ” 

The man’s voice grew fainter and fainter now, and they 
could not understand the broken words that came gasp- 
ingly from his lips, but Pauls had heard enough. In the 
presence of witnesses the thief had confessed and declared 
Sam’s innocence, and once free, the faithful negro could be 
persuaded to deliver the papers into the hands of Little 
Sunshine’s true friends. 

Pauls stayed by the wretched sufferer until death released 
him, and then set about restoring Sam to liberty. 

This was soon accomplished ; and when the negro could 
be made to understand the truth, he delivered the papers 
into the hands of Fred Pauls. 

One of these documents proved to be the last will and 
testament of Lester Aubrey Clare, signed on the morning 
of his death, and bequeathing his entire fortune, with the 
exception of some trifling bequests to servants, to his be- 
loved daughter, Madeline Clare. 

The contents of the other papers brought an exclamation 
of surprise and many an ejaculation of admiration from 
the lips of Pauls. 

“Noble man! Oh, heart of gold, how basely was your 
trust betrayed!” he muttered, as he thought of Lester 


t LITTLE SUNSHINE. 151 

Clare’s generous sacrifice as proven by the paper he held 
in his hand. 

It was a letter, dated ten years back, and written in a 
scrawling, irregular hand. 

It read as follows : 

“The Oaks, W. Virginia, November IS, 185>. 

4 4 Lester Aubrey Clare, — The hand of death is on me, 
and I cannot go out of the world with the burden of my 
secret pressing on my soul. I must tell it, or death will 
not come to end my sufferings. Do you remember, among 
your uncle Aubrey’s slaves, one whom they called Zoe? I 
know you have not forgotten her, for out of the goodness 
of your heart you used to speak so kindly to her: and it 
was you who taught her to read and write, careless of the 
sneers of your cousin, who did not think the negroes had a 
soul like his own. I am Zoe, and I never forgot your kind- 
ness, young master, even wRen I helped to wrong you. I 
cried most bitterly when they drove you out of your home, 
and I never thought that I should help to keep you out of 
it. I had always feared Master Ralph, and when he came 
to me with flattering praises of my beauty — the beauty of 
the despised octoroon — I shrank from him in terror ; but 
what mattered it ; I was a slave and he my master. He 
had but to command and I to obey. All, w^ell ! the God 
who made me what I am knows how I suffered, until my 
babe was born — the little, fair, dainty creature, whose 
brow must be branded with the accursed mark of her 
mother’s race. I will hasten over the events that followed, 
for my sands of life are almost run. You know the terms 
of your uncle’s strange will. In case of the death of the 
daughter of Master Ralph and his lady wife, you , my 
young master, v 7 ere to inherit all. That "child, Leone Del- 
more, did die, and was buried as the child of the slave, 
while the slave’s child, my child, was put in the place of 
the heiress, that you might still be defrauded of your 
rights. What could I do? I begged to be allowed to re- 
main near my baby, but I was sold into slavery most hor- 
rible, and until the blessed tidings of freedom rang through 
the land, my sufferings w-ere too dreadful for belief. 

“ I would have betrayed Master Ralph’s secret to see 
you restored to your rights long ago, but love for my child 
kept me silent until now, when death has come for me. 
Oh, young master ! Master Lester, be merciful to my child ! 
If the knowledge of her true parentage does not kill her, 
I beg you to be merciful to her. A mother cries to you 
from out the grave to spare her child! All these years I 
have wronged you by keeping silent, but God— the God to 
whom you used to teach me to pray— has said, 1 Venge- 


152 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


ance is mine ; I will repay. ’ Oh, do not visit my sin on the 
head of my child. Claim your fortune. This letter is my 
confession, signed in the presence of two witnesses. You 
will have no difficulty in proving your right to the fortune 
now in possession of Ealph Delmore. My sight is grow- 
ing dim, my fingers powerless. Be pitiful! Oh, God! 
spare my child ” 

Here followed several words that were so blotted and 
disconnected that Pauls could not make out their mean- 
ing, and the letter ended with the signature — Zoe Clare — 
and the names of two witnesses. 

There was a suspicious moisture in the eyes of Pauls as 
he read this pitiful letter, and his face paled, as if a voice 
from the grave had indeed appealed to him. 

Accompanying this letter was a sheet of paper upon 
which Lester Clare had written the thoughts it had awak- 
ened in his noble heart. 

* 4 Poor mother — poor slave-mother ! I will spare your 
child. Oh, may God have heard your prayer and dealt 
mercifully with you! God knows I forgive you for your 
share in the wrong that has been done me! Oh, Ealph! 
Ealph! my cousin whom I loved, you have no need to fear 
me ; I do not envy you the wealth for which you sinned. 
God has dealt very kindly with me, and given me enough 
of this world’s goods, and while He spares me my priceless 
treasure — the child who is the sunshine of my home — 1 ask 
no more. Your secret is safe in my keeping, Ealph Del- 
more, and your child, poor Zoe,. shall never by me be hurled 
from her high position.” 

This was all; there was no reproach for the man who 
had wronged him so deeply ; the divine spirit of forgive- 
ness breathed through every line, speaking eloquently of 
the noble heart too early laid away in the grave. 

“I would like to have known Lester Clare,” murmured 
Fred Pauls, as he folded the paper with reverent touch, 
involuntarily speaking his thoughts aloud in the presence 
of the negro Sam, whose black face wore an expression of 
deep solemnity as he cried : 

“ Oh, my massa — my dead massa! the world will neber 
see anoder like him !” 

It was a rude but touching tribute to Lester Clare's mem- 
ory, and Fred Pauls, strong man though he was, was 
moved almost to tears. 

“How did you obtain these papers?” was Pauls’ first 
question, and, with the same solemn expression on his 
round, black face, the negro replied : 

44 Oh, Massa Pauls, it was weary work. You see. Massa 
Clare trusted dis poor nigger, and I knowed dat dis will 
bad been made, It was me an’ ole Susie, de cook, who 


LITTLE SUNSHINE, 


158 


signed our names for witnesses at de bottom ob it. Ole 
Susie was discharged by Mistress Clare after de massa’s 
funeral, an’ I didn’t dare to tell about dis will when de 
Oder one was read. I was afeared ob massa’s wife — afeard 
dat she would send me off where I couldn’t watch ober de 
Little Sunshine. I kept very quiet, but I was bound to 
find de will. Little missy left her home, an’ I watched 
massa’s wife like a cat watches a mouse, ’cause I always 
distrusted her. I knowed dat Missy Madeline had left her 
home ’cause ob something de massa had told her on his 
deathbed. I wanted to find out de secret. I s’pected 
Massa Townley always, an’ one night ” (the negro shud- 
dered as he recalled the memory of the night of which he 
was about to speak)— “one night Massa Townley and 
Massa Clare’s widow shut demselves up in de room next 
de massa’s study, an’ I laid me down ’fore de door dat 
opened from de study an’ heard all dat dey said. Oh, 
Massa Pauls, don’t ask me to ’peat what I heard. It was 
drefful. My dead massa loved dat woman, an’ she — 
she ” 

The negro’s voice sank to a hoarse whisper, his face as* 
sumed that ghastly pallor common to people of his race, 
and he crouched almost at Pauls’ feet as he whispered the 
dreadful words : 

“ She poisoned him /” 

“ Great God! can this be true?” ejaculated his horrified 
listener, while the negro resumed : 

“ It is true, massa, I heard it all. I wonder dat I didn’t 
cry out and let de world know de truf, but I ’membered 
Miss Madeline, and I ’solved to find her first an’ know 
what she would have me do. I had searched ebery place 
for de will, goin’ round de house at night dressed in a long 
white gown and with my head muffled, so dat if de missus 
seen me she’d take me for a ghost, she was so bery ’fraid 
of ghosts, you know. And dat drefful night I looked at 
de dead massa’s picture, and de eyes seemed to tell me 
what to do. I had forgotten dat dere was in de chamber 
of de missus a secret closet in d$ wall. ‘ De will is 
there,’ de eyes seemed to tell me, and dat night I got in de 
room an’ suah enough I done foun’ dem. You know de 
res’, Massa Pauls, I done start out to find an ole fren’ of 
massa’s, to gib de papers to, when I fell into de hands ob 
thieves. And now, Massa Pauls, you’ll find de Little Sun- 
shine, won’t you, find her and bring her back to her own 
liome?” 

The negro was eagerly scanning Pauls’ face as he con- 
cluded, and Pauls answered warmly: 

‘‘With God’s help, I will!” 




1M 


LITTLE SUNS Him, 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

CONCLUSION. 

44 Without thy smite the monarch^ lot 
To me were dark and lone, 

White with it, ev’n the humblest cot 
Were brighte.” than his throne; 

Those worlds for which the conqueror sighs, 

For me would have no charms; 

My only world thy gentle eyes — 

My throne thy circling arms!” Moore. 

The scene of our story changes to a dreary tract of 
marsh land on Long Island, a few miles out of the city of 
Brooklyn. 

Many years previous to the opening of our story this 
had been quite a pretty spot, and several farmers had built 
upon it, but gradually the water began to undermine it 
until it became little better than a swamp, and the place 
was deserted, and the houses left to go to ruin. 

For several years no one had lived in the desolate place, 
and great wonder was expressed when one of the disused 
houses was rented by a, hard-faced woman, who laughed 
to scorn the people’s predictions of chills and fever and 
other ills to arise from her residence therein. 

The ground upon which this house was built was cut 
off from the inhabited part of the island by a narrow but 
deep stream of water, which the new tenant often crossed, 
in a row-boat owned by an idiotic fellow named, or called, 
Simple Tom. 

One evening a couple of days subsequent to the release 
of Sam from prison, a lady dressed in deep mourning and 
heavily veiled, sought the services of Simple Tom to con 
vey her to the old house in question. 

The idiot stared at the lady as if half afraid of her, but 
the sight of the greenback she was prepared to give him 
for his services, helped greatly to overcome this fear, and 
he chuckled gleefully as he rowed her across the stream. 

“ Leave the boat here, I shall want to return by and by,” 
she said, when he had helped her out of the boat, and the 
boy scampered off with his money, fairly shouting in his 
glee, while the lady in black made her way to the house 
of which we have spoken, where she was met at the door 
by its strange tenant. 

“Oh, Miss Vereton,” the latter cried at sight of her 
visitor, “ I’m so glad you’ve come. The girl is just fading 
away, an’ I don’t want her to die on my hands. She 
never says a word, but her great eyes look so pitiful I 
can’t bear to look at her.” 

“ Hush, hush, Mrs. Barton,” cried Laura Vereton, 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


IgS 

“ You must not let the girl hear you. I have come to 
take her to her home, my heart has failed meat last; I 
cannot longer punish her for the wrong she has done me. 
My mother is dead and this girl is my sister, we must be 
friends. I will pay you well for what you have done for 
me, and I know I can rely upon your silence.” 

Mrs. Barton promised faithfully to carry out all Laura’s 
instructions, and then ushered the latter into the room in 
which Madeline lay — if the wan, white-faced, hollow-eyed 
girl whom she found reclining on a couch in that dreary 
apartment could indeed be the beautiful, sunny-hearted 
girl whom she had known by that name. 

“Madeline, oh, my sister! I have found you at last,” 
cried Laura, throwing herself on her knees before the 
couch, and trying to encircle Madeline with her arms. 

Madeline drew herself away with gentle firmness and 
fixed her brown eyes sadly on Laura’s face as she said 
mournfully: 

“ Laura, Lydia Barton has told me all. You know how 
I came here. After the death of my little friend, Nettie 
Smith, I was taken ill, and I had no home to go to. 
Lydia suddenly professed sorrow for past unkindness to 
me, and invited me to share her home and her mother’s 
care. I was weak and ill, and I trusted her. She brought 
me here, since which time I have been a prisoner. She 
told me her motive for acting thus; she was only a tool in 
your hands. Oh, Laura, Laura, what have I ever done 
that you should treat me so?” 

For one moment Laura hid her face, unable to endure 
the sight of those reproachful eyes, while a voice in her 
heart seemed to whisper, “Madeline Clare spared you 
when she might have loaded vour name with disgrace. 
Madeline Clare might have branded your mother as a poi- 
soner, yet she chose to leave her father’s roof, an outcast, 
rather than betray the fearful secret she had learned in 
that father’s death chamber. 

Madeline's gentle heart was touched by the sight of Lau- 
ra’s dejection, and she laid her hand gently on the latter's 
bowed head. 

“ Laura, I forgive you, do not grieve for me; I think I 
shall go to papa soon; see how thin my hands have grown; 
I can almost see through them. Oh, i shall be so glad to 
die.” 

There was a strangely sweet smile on the girl’s face now, 
and Laura looked at her in wonder, a momentary throb 
of pity stirring her cold heart, but the tender sentiment 
was quickly banished as she thought, “There is no peace 
or safety for me while Madeline lives. Lydia tells me 
that a private detective has been set to find her by some 


156 


LITTLE SUNSHINE , 


powerful friend. They would soon worm from her the se- 
cret of her father’s death chamber, and then — bah ! shall I 
let this foolish weakness destroy my hopes for the future? 
No, no, Madeline Clare shall not live to betray her knowl- 
edge of the truth.” 

Even while thinking thus Laura Yereton was playing 
the part of a penitent. “ Oh, Madeline, can you indeed 
forgive me? Oh, child, you are an angel of goodness. 
Will you come with me to our home, and let the devotion 
of a lifetime atone for past unkindness?” 

She was kissing Madeline’s hands humbly as she spoke, 
and the gentle girl never dreamed of doubting her sincer- 
ity. 

* 4 1 will go with you,” she said, simply, adding, with a 
shudder: “ It is so dreadful here; harken, how the wind 
rattles the window; it sounds like ghostly voices, warning 
me of some threatened danger.” 

Laura turned her head away; her face was white and 
set, and her eyes glittered strangely. 

She helped to wrap Madeline up in a shawl with which 
Mrs. Barton provided her, and even allowed the girl to 
clasp her hand confidingly, as they passed together out of 
the house. 

It was night now, and the stars were reflected on the 
water like gleaming jewels. The boat was there, but Sim- 
ple Tom was nowhere in sight. 

‘‘I will row myself,” said Laura, and something in the 
tone of her voice made Madeline start and glance quickly 
into her face. 

Laura met her glance with a reassuring smile. 

“ Don’t be afraid, child, I have often managed a larger 
boat than this, and see how narrow the stream is; we’ll be 
over in three minutes, and then a walk of half an hour 
will take us to the cars. Jump in, Madeline; surely you 
are not afraid?” 

For an answer Madeline stepped into the boat, and 
Laura quickly followed, and pushed away from the shore. 

There was not a soul in sight ; even Mrs. Barton had re- 
mained in the house to count the money Laura had given 
her. 

Not a sound was heard, save that made by the motion 
of the oars in the water and the howling of the wind. 

An unaccountable feeling of dread came over Madeline, 
and her head began to throb painfully. 

“I— I hope I am not going to faint,” she murmured, 
bending low over the boat’s side to bathe her temples in 
the cold water. 

Only the eye all-seeing witnessed the scene that followed. 
Madeline had a confused sense of being pushed into the 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


157 


water. She felt the icy tide closing over her, and then of 
rising to the surface, and of her hands coming in contact 
with the boat, to which she clung with the strength of 
despair, even while cruel hands tried to beat off her cling- 
ing fingers. 

She heard, as from a great distance, Laura’s wild cry as 
the boat was overturned, and then followed moments of 
oblivion, from which she awoke to find herself on the op- 
posite bank of the stream, with a dark, handsome face 
bending over her in the starlight. 

“Thank God, we arrived in time to save you!” cried 
Fred Pauls, while Madeline gasped out the name of 
“ Laura,” with a request that he would save the latter. 

“ God knows we tried to save her, and I fear the trial, 
fruitless as it was, has cost my friend his life,” Pauls said, 
with a deep groan, adding, as he saw that Madeline was 
sufficiently revived to understand him: “We followed 
Laura Yereton from New York, in the hope that she would 
lead us to the hiding-place of Madeline Clare. Miss Yere- 
ton managed to escape us in leaving the ferry-boat, and it 
took us some time to get again upon her track. We ar- 
rived here just in time to see you struggling in the water, 
and to hear Miss Yereton’s cry as your weight overturned 
the boat. We sprung into the water, and swam to your 
rescue. My friend reached you first, and was bearing you 
toward the shore, when Miss Yereton clutched his limbs 
and bore him down. I caught you from him, and swam 
with you to the shore where i left you, while I went back 
to the assistance of the others. My God i what was my 
horror to find that they had both sunk beneath the waters. 
While I hesitated with the horror of my discovery, my 
poor friend once more rose to the surface, and I saw that 
his head was bleeding from being dashed against the boat. 
I got him to the bank somehow, but, oh, Miss Clare, I fear 
that he is dead.” 

By this time Madeline had risen to her feet, faint and 
trembling as she was, and now she looked in the direction 
pointed out by the man to whom she owed her life, and 
saw a figure stetched motionless on the ground, with face 
upturned to the starlit sky. 

It needed but one glance to tell her whose face it was, 
and a great cry broke from her lips as she flung herself 
down by the prostrate form, and lifted the head to a rest- 
ing-place on her breast. 

“Audley, Audleyl” she cried, and if needed no other 
words to tell the listener how passionately Madeline Clare 
had loved Audley Yernoii. 

“ You must remain with him here while I go for assist- 


158 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


ance,” said Pauls, and Madeline lifted her agonized eyes 
to his face, unable to speak. 

One hour later and Audley Vernon was stretched upon 
a couch in the residence of the nearest physician that 
could be found, where his mother was soon brought to at- 
tend him. 

The blow he had received upon his temple was not in it- 
self sufficient to have killed him, the doctor declared, but 
the patient had been weak from recent illness, and it was 
doubtful whether his enfeebled constitution would rally 
from this new shock. 

Madeline begged piteously to be allowed to remain by 
him. 

“Oh, Mrs. Vernon, do not send me away; he would 
wish me near him if he could speak,” she sobbed, clinging 
to the mother’s breast in an agony of supplication. 

“ You may stay, my child; we will nurse him together,” 
was the mother’s answer, and Madeline took her place by 
the poet’s bedside. 

Every paper now contained articles relative to the young 
poet, whose success was established as soon as his book 
was sent forth into the world. 

The story of the drowning of Laura Vereton was pub- 
lished with a dozen different versons, and many a strange 
story was whispered abroad while the body of the un- 
fortunate girl, which had been recovered, lay in state in 
the parlor of her late home. 

The press decided that it was a case of accidental drown- 
ing, and Madeline Clare never opened her lips to tell the 
dreadful truth, so that none suspected that retribution 
had overtaken Laura while the latter was attempting to 
destroy her stepsister’s life. 

For many days it seemed that Audley Vernon would 
pass away without regaining consciousness, and during 
that time Madeline Clare was like one who was losing all 
interest in life. 

She was strangely calm, and her face wore a look that 
alarmed them. 

“If the girl is not aroused from the state into which she 
is falling, she is in clanger of losing her reason,” declared 
the physician, and Fred Pauls determined, if possible, to 
save her. 

One day, while Audley still lay like one dead, Pauls led 
Madeline gently away from the bedside. 

She had resisted him at first, but he whispered these 
words in her ear : 

“Come with me, I implore you; I would speak with 
you of your father.” 

“ My father !” the girl repeated, and allowed herself to 


LITTLE SUNSHINE . 


159 


be taken into another room, where Pauls revealed to her 
the discoveries he had made, the finding of the will, the 
death of the girl Leone, the truth concerning Leone’s 
parentage, and all the circumstances we have already re- 
lated. 

When he spoke of the death of Lester Clare, and de- 
clared that the latter had died from the effects of poison, 
administered by his wife, Madeline became visibly ex- 
cited. ^ 

“ My plan works well, I have saved her,” Pauls thought, 
and to his intense relief Madeline burst into a passionate 
fit of weeping, and sank on her knees before him, clasping 
his hands in supplication. 

“ Oh, do not publish this dreadful story for the world to 
• read,” she cried; “I promised my darling father in that 
last dreadful hour that I would spare his name. Oh, my 
father ! my darling, shall I ever forget that last scene !” 

“ Tell me about it. Miss Clare, it will relieve your brain, 
tell me all,” urged Pauls, and something in the tone of 
his voice, gentle and tender though it was, compelled her 
obedience. Her face was convulsed with emotion, and for 
a time she could not command her voice, but presently she 
began : 

“Some things connected with that dreadful death -bed 
are confused and dim when I look back. I do not remem- 
ber how I entered my father’s chamber. I only remember 
hearing him say: ‘Louise, you have poisoned me,’ and 
seeing my stepmother holding the glass from which he had 
drank his medicine; then I forget how I reached him; but 
I remember vividly how his arms closed round me, while 
he sobbed like a little child. I wanted to go out anywhere, 
into the street, to cry out that he was dying — poisoned — 
but his arms imprisoned me, he would not let me leave 
him. He made me kneel before him, and clasped my 
hands together, while he forced me to promise before God, 
and in the presence of the dying, never, for the honor of 
his name, to betray his wife’s secret. What could I do 
but obey him? He thanked me many times, and then be- 
gan to talk of my future. I would be rich, he said, and 
hinted that some honorable man would win me for his 
wife; but I solemnly vowed that I would wed no man 
while my heart jvas burdened with a secret my husband 
might not share. While I held my father in my arms, 
watching the light of life die out of the beloved face, ne 
told me how he had discovered, only the night before, that 
his wife and Percy Townley, whom he had trusted and 
loved, were plotting his destruction, and how he had made 
a new will, leaving me his entire fortune. He begged me 
to promise that I would go away where my stepmother 


160 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


could not harm me, and he mentioned an old friend of his 
who would protect me, forgetting that I could claim no 
one’s protection without betraying the secret he wished 
me to guard. His arms clung round me even while he 
suffered the agony of death; and once, when his voice 
had almost gone, he motioned me to place my ear to his 
lips, and when I did so he whispered, 4 Destroy the papers 
you will find with the will; show them to nobody.’ 

“ In his last moments it occurred to him that he had 
forgotten to tell me where this latest will was hidden, and 
his struggles to speak were dreadful to behold, but he 
failed to make me understand him. I felt his cheek grow 
very cold against my own, his lips no longer responded to 
my kisses, and then I remember no more. They buried 
him out of my sight, and a will was read, leaving me to 
the guardianship of Percy Townley. I fled from the 
house in terror, knowing not, caring not whither I went 
so I escaped my father’s murderess. You know the rest.” 
The girl had ceased to weep now, but her face no longer 
wore that look of stony despair. 

“ Poor child! poor child! how you have suffered, but it 
is over now, these papers will prove you the heiress to two 
large fortunes. You will yet be very happy.” 

As Fred Pauls spoke he placed the will and the letters 
concerning Delmore’s daughter into her lap, watching her 
face narrowly as she glanced over the octoroon’s letter, 
and the words her father had written concerning it. 

There was a bright fire burning in the grate near her 
seat, and a glow of admiration flushed the dark face of 
Pauls as he saw her lay the papers on the coals, and watch 
them crumble to dust in the flames, while with quivering 
lips she whispered the name “ Leone.” 

“ Brave girl! she is worthy to be Lester Clare's daugh- 
ter!” Pauls thought, while Madeline again bowed her face 
in her hands, weeping over the sad fate of the girl she had 
loved, the beautiful, ill-fated Leone. 

Presently she arose, and begged to return to the room in 
which Audley Vernon lay, dying, it was thought. 

Pauls went with her, and together they entered the 
darkened room where the mother bent over her boy. 

“See! there is a change,” she whispered, pointing to 
the white face on the pillows, and even while she spoke 
her son's eyes opened, and looked beyond her to the place 
where Madeline stood, gazing on him with all the love of 
her heart shining from her eyes, a love so passionate 
and mighty that they flooded every feature with glory. 

A smile" broke over the pallid face of the sufferer, and 
distinctly from his lips came the words, “Little Sun 
shine.” 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


161 


Then he sank into a deep, life-giving sleep, while the 
watchers sank with one accord to their knees, to offer up 
their prayers for the beloved life. 

“ My darling, you will be his savior; let your sweet face 
be the first to greet him when he awakens!” whispered 
Mrs. Vernon, and then they left the girl alone with the 
man who loved her with every throb of his heart. 

All through the night she watched beside him, and once, 
when his hand moved restlessly on the coverlet, she clasped 
it in her own, and thus he found her when he opened his 
eyes, kneeling beside him, with her sunny head bowed in 
prayer, and her hand clasping his. 

“Madeline! Little Sunshine! is this a dream? Oh, 
child, speak to me!” he whispered, and for all answer 
Madeline drew his head to her breast, and touched her lips 
to his forehead, saying softly: 

“ Audley, beloved, live for me.” 

From that hour his recovery was sure and rapid. 

After that first involuntary expression of her love for 
him, Madeline was shy and embarrassed, and would only 
enter his presence accompanied by his mother; but Audley 
was intensely happy, for in that hour he had read his dar- 
ling's heart aright. 

* Sjc % * * # * 

A year has elapsed since the wicked attempt of Laura 
Vereton to destroy the life of her stepsister ended in her 
own death, and almost in that of Audley Vernon, and the 
scene of our story changes to a handsome home on the 
banks of the noble Hudson — a picturesque little villa, sur- 
rounded by handsomely laid out grounds and flower gar- 
dens, with marble statues gleaming white in the moon- 
light, and fountains throwing high their silver spray. 
Just such a home as an artist or a poet would fancy, every 
one said, and it was the home of a poet — a man whose 
name is known to-day throughout the length and breadth 
of our land. 

One month previous to the evening of which we write 
Audley Vernon had come to the little paradise to live — 
Audley Vernon and his beautiful bride-— the very happiest 
couple in existence, every one declared, and it was scarcely 
to be wondered at that this should be their verdict, if one 
might judge from the scene upon which we will glance ere 
bidding them farewell. 

It is the sunset hour, and the western sky is flaming 
with the glory of gold and crimson, rose and amethyst, 
and purple changing to a pale golden- yellow, and with the 
bright glow of the sky reflected in her sweet brown eyes, 
we find our Madeline, nestled close to her husband’s side 
as they watch together the fading glories of the sunset, his 


162 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


strong arm close around her, his handsome head bowed 
until his dark locks mingle with the golden sunny curls 
floating on the evening breeze, and his eyes wandering 
often from the brightness of the sky to the lovely face that 
makes the sunshine of his life. 

“ Little Sunshine,” he whispers fondly, and presses his 
lips to her own, while she looks up at him, her cheeks 
flushed with the warm color his kisses have still power to 
call to them, the love- light shining from her brown eyes, 
and the dimples coming and going on cheek and chin. 
“ My darling, there is something I want to say to you, and 
then I wish to banish all memory of the past from your 
heart, dearest; the mention of it has power to rob your 
face of its brightness. Little Sunshine, there are tears in 
your eyes, the first you have shed since the blessed hour 
you became my wife. My little love, do you know how it 
grieves me to see a shadow on that dear face?” 

Only for a moment the bright face was shadowed, then 
Madeline’s white arms stole round her husband’s neck, and 
her lips wore their sunniest smile. 

“Dearest, I will never grieve you again; the past was 
bitter indeed, but the future holds no sorrow for me while 
your love endures. Oh, Audley, there are times when I 
wonder how you, so gifted and talented, can care for a 
childish and ignorant little creature like myself.” 

Audley silenced the pretty lips with kisses, saying 
softly : 

“Beloved, what to me were genius, or fortune if your 
love were denied me? You are my world — my queen — 
your arms the only throne I crave ! Ah ! Sunshine, little 
tyrant, beware how you abuse your power !” 

Madeline laughed merrily at the tone of mock gravity 
in which these last words were spoken, and Audley pres- 
ently approached the subject he had desired to speak of. 

“ Did you know, my dearest, that Ralph Delmore was 
dead?” 

“No, I have not heard of his death,” replied Madeline, 
bravely striving to conceal the quiver of her lips at this 
allusion to her father’s enemy. 

“ He died last week, and, Sunshine, his last act was one 
of reparation. He left a written confession of his past life, 
and declared you, Madeline Clare Vernon, the rightful 
heiress to his fortune, an act by which his wife is almost 
beggared.” 

Audley Vernon paused here, watching eagerly his wife’s 
downcast face. 

She looked up presently, a look of determination on her 
sweet young face. 

“Ido not want this fortune, Audley; we have enough 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


m 


for our simple wants, and you will be rich before long. I 
— I do not think we would be happy with his money, re- 
membering the past.” 

“ Spoken like my own true wife. My love, I had hoped 
you would decide thus ; I want the happiness of myself 
providing for my wife. What shall you do with this 
money. Sunshine?” asked Audley, as he caught her to his 
heart in a passionate clasp that made her breath come 
quicker. 

“ Half of it shall be settled on Ralph Delmore’s widow, 
and the rest donated to any charitable institution you may 
think most worthy. And, Audley, there is one who was 
kind to me — a poor working-girl named Sarah Green — will 
you see that she is rewarded?” 

“ No one shall be forgotten who was kind to you, my 
noble wife. Speaking of working- girls reminds me of 
something else I wanted to tell you. You will say when 
you hear it, that it is only in novels that wicked people 
meet with their punishment on earth. Lydia Barton is 
married to her employer, Oscar Hemmingway, and to her 
intense delight, is able to ride in her own carriage. Of 
course, she scorns the girls who were her shop- mates, and 
recognizes none of them, with the exception of the old 
madame who helped to bring about the match, and who is 
now Lydia’s housekeeper.” 

Madeline smiled at this piece of news, and answered 
gayly : 

“ I hope they may be happy; my r own life is so full of 
bliss that I would fain have every living creature as happy 
as I. See, dear, here comes Sam up the lawn, shaking his 
head at us reprovingly^. What is it, Uncle Sam? what 
have we been doing wrong now?” 

Our black friend still continued to shake his head, as he 
looked at Audley Vernon, saying : 

“ ’Scuse me, Massa Vernon, but I ’clare to gracious you 
got no more sense than a baby. Jes’ look how de dew’s 
a-fallin’, an’ young missy in her bare neck an’ arms, too.” 

Audley and Madeline laughed heartily at the negro’s so- 
licitude. He was a privileged character about the house, 
and his love for Little Sunshine had in it all the slavish 
devotion of a dog for its master. 

He had brought a soft, white shawl for Madeline, and 
while Audley was wrapping it about her shoulders, Mrs. 
Vernon joined them — a sweet, placid-faced old lady, with 
silver hair half hidden by a dainty lace cap, and tender 
eyes that always wore an expression of love when look- 
ing on her noble son, and the daughter who was scarcely 
less dear to her heart. 

“My children,” she said softly, as she came behind 


164 


LITTLE SUNSHINE. 


them unawares, and both faces turned toward her, alight 
with loving welcome, while Madeline’s arm stole round 
her waist, and Audley hastened to bring her a garden- 
chair. 

We will leave them now in their happy home, watching 
the golden glories of the sunset, as they hope to watch to- 
gether the sunset of life, hand in hand and heart to heart, 
until the jasper gates shall open to receive them. If at 
times Madeline’s tears flow at some tender memory of her 
father, she quickly checks them, remembering the coming 
time when he shall meet her at heaven’s portals, wearing 
the crown of immortality — his Little Madeline. 


[the end,] 



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263 A Willful Maid, by Charlotte M. 

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265 Agnes Evelyn, by G. W. M. 

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266 The Child of Waterloo, by G. W. 

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268 Mysteries of the Merry Mon- 

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270 The First False Step, by G. W. 

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286 Rose Sommerville, by G. W. M. 

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288 The Young Duchess, by G. W. 

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294 Ada Arundel, by G. W. M. 

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295 Olivia, by G. W. M. Reynolds... 20 

296 Joseph Wilmot, Part I, by G. W. 

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298 Joseph Wilmot, Part III, by G. 

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299 The Greek Corsair, Part I, by G. 

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302 Sunshine and "Gloom, by ‘Geral- 

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303 A Terrible Crime, by Emma 

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304 Addie’s Husband 20 

305 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan, by 

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306 The Deerslayer, by J. Fenimore 

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307 Daisy Darrell, by Laura C. Ford 20 

308 Robert Ord's Atonement, by 

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309 In Durance Vile, by the “Duch- 

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310 Deldee; or, The Iron Hand, by 

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311 The Last of the Mohicans, by J. 

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312 The Pioneers, by J. Fenimore 

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313 The Prairie, by J. Fenimore 

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314 20,000 Leagues under the Seas, 

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315 A Sister’s Sacrifice, by Geral- 

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316 Our Maitual Friend, Part I, by 

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317 Our Mutual friend, Part II, by 

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318 Bleak House, Part I, by Charles 

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319 Bleak House, Part if, by Charies 

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320 Martin Chuzzlewit, Part I, by 

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328 The Pickwick Papers, Part I, by 

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330 The Mystery of Edwin Drood, 

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333 American Notes, by Charles 

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371 Curley, and My Poor Wife 20 

372 Carriston’s Gift, by Hugh Con- 

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376 Dorris, by the “ Duchess ” 20 

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378 Faith and Unfaitbi, by the 

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379 Rossmoyne, by the “ Duchess ” 20 

380 Mildred Trevanion, by the 

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381 A Week in Killarney, by the 

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382 A Maideu All Forlorn, by the 

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384 The Earl’s Atonement, by Char- 

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385 Under a Shadow, by Charlotte 

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386 The Shadow of the Sword, by 

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387 God and the Man, by Robert 

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397 Love Conquers Pride, by Mrs. 

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398 A Miserable Woman, by Mrs. 

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427 A Haunted Life, by Adah M. 

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428 A Desperate Woman, by Adah 

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429 Little Nana, by Adah M. How- 

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430 By Mutual Consent, by Adah M. 

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431 The Luck of the Darrells, by 

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432 The Courting of Mary Smith, by 

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433 Slings and Arrows, by Hugh 

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434 All in One, by Hugh Conway... 20 

435 Lorna Doone, Part I, by R. D. 

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436 Lorna Doone, Part II, by R. D. 

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437 Remarkable History of Sir Thos. 

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441 Cristoweil, by R. D. Blackmore 20 

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446 Cripps, the Carrier, by R. D. 

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447 Irene, by Annie A. Gibbs 20 

448 The Waif of the Storm, by 

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449 The Forced Marriage, by Annie 

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450 A Blighted Life, by Annie A. 

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451 A Cruel Woman, by Annie A. 

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452 Her Father’s Sin, by Annie A. 

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453 A Dead Man’s Face, by Hugh 

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454 The Dark House, by G. Man- 

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456 A Tom Boy, by Mrs H. C. Hoff- 

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458 The Sacred Nugget, by B. L. 

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400 The Phoenix, by Milton Nobles. 20 

461 Tangles Unraveled, by Evelyn 

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462 Handy Andy, by Samuel Lover. 20 
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464 In the 25th Dragoons, by J. S. 

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465 The Rabbi’s Spell, by Stuart C. 

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466 For Lilias, by Rosa Nouchette 

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467 The Mistletoe Bough (Christ- 

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468 Britta, by George Temple 10 

469 Goblin Gold, by May Crommelin 10 

470 The Master of the Mine, by Rob- 

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471 Othmar, by “Ouida” 20 

472 Great Britain through Ameri- 

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475 Belinda, by Rboda Broughton.. 20 

476 Iu Maremma, by “ Ouida ” 20 

477 “ Self or Bearer,” by Walter Be- 

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478 Story of a Sin, by Helen B. 

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479 Grif, by B. L. Farjeon 20 

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481 History of a Week, by Mrs. L. 

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482 Far from the Madding Crowd, 

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483 Wife in Name Only, by Char- 

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484 Repented at Leisure, by Char- 

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485 Hilda, by Charlotte M. Braeme. 20 

486 A Golden Heart, by Charlotte 

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487 A Bitter Atonement, by Char- 

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488 Between Two Loves, by Char- 

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489 Evelyn’s Folly, by Charlotte M. 

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490 A Woman’s Temptation, by 

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491 A Struggle for a Ring, by Char- 

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492 Lady Darner’s Secret, by Char- 

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493 A Fair Mystery, by Charlotte M. 

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496 Rainbow Gold, by David Chris- 

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497 First Person Singular, by David 

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498 Hearts, by David Christie Mur- 

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499 A Life’s Atonement, by David 

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500 Val Strange, by David Christie 

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508 A Country Gentleman, by Mrs. 

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511 I Have Lived and Loved, by 

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512 My Lord and My Lady, by Mrs. 

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513 My Hero, by Mrs. Forrester 20 

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521 June, a Love Story, by Mrs. 

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522 Omnia Vanitas, a Tale of So- 

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523 A Young Man’s Fancy, and 

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524 A House Divided Against Itself, 

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525 A Cardinal Sin, by Hugh Con- 

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526 Aunt Parker, by B. L Farjeon. 20 

527 Locked Out, by Hart Bernard.. 10 

528 The Last of the Macallisters, by 

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529 Until the Day Breaks, by Emily 

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533 Red as a Rose Is She, by Rhoda 

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534 Cometh up as a Flower, by 

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535 Not Wisely But Too Weil, by 

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536 Joan, by Rhoda Broughton 20 

537 Second Thoughts, by Rhoda 

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539 Griselda 20 

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560 My Lady Green Sleeves, by 

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570 The Mayor of Casterbridge, by 

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573 A Stern Chase, by Mrs. Cashel 

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574 “King” Arthur, by Hannah 

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575 The Heritage of Langdale, by 

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576 The Secret of Her Life, by Ed- 

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577 Ralph Wilton’s Weird, by Mrs. 

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579 The Head Station, by Mrs. 

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580 A Diamond in the Rough, by 

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583 One of the Family, by James 

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584 A Fair Maid, by F. W. RobinsoD 20 

585 Pretty Miss Bellew, by Theo. 

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586 Fieurange, by Mme. Augustus 

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587 The Trumpet Major, by Thomas 

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588 A Fallen Idol, by F. Anstey 20 

589 Doris’ Fortune, by Florence 

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595 The Dynamiter, by Robert L. 

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596 By the Gate of the Sea, by David 

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597 Effie Ogilvie, by Mrs. Oliphant. 20 

598 Amoret, by Charles Gibbon 20 

599 The Crack of Doom, by William 

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600 Jet; Her Face or Her Fortune, 

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ander 20 

-86 The World Went Very Well 

• Then, by Walter Besant 20 

&J7 The Nine of Hearts, by B. L. 

Far jeon 20 

5C8 For Maimie’s Sake, by Grant 

Allen... 20 

589 Love and Life, by Charlotte M. 

Yonge 20 

890 Chantry House, by Charlotte M. 

Yonge 20 

691 The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest, 

by Charlotte M. Yonge... 20 

692 The Two Sides of the Shield, by 

Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

693 My Young Alcides, by Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

694 John Maidment, by J. Sturgis.. 20 

695 lone Stewart, by Mrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 20 

636 Dorothy Forster, by Walter Be- 
sant 20 

697 John; a Love Story, by Mrs. 

Oliphant. 20 

698 Margaret Maitland, by Mrs. Oli* 

phant 20 

899 The Witch’s Head, by H. Rider 
Haggard 20 

700 She, by H. Rider Haggard 20 

701 For Another’s Sin, by Charlotte 

M. Braeme 20 

702 One Thing Needful, by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

703 The Master Passion, by Florence 

Marryat 20 

704 A Modern Telemachus, by Char- 

lotte M. Yonge 20 

7Q5 Les Miserables, Part I., by Vic- 
tor Hu go 20 

706 Les Miserables, Part II., by Vic- 

tor Hugo 20 

707 Les Miserables, Part III., by Vic- 

tor Hugo 20 

708 The Rival Cousins, by Col. 

Prentiss Ingraham 20 


NO. FRICK. 


709 Claribel’s Love Story, by C. M. 

Braeme 2$ 

710 A Poor Gentleman, by Mrs. 

Oliphant 2C 

711 Pure Gold, by Mrs. H. Lovett 

Cameron 20 

712 Karma, by A. P. Sinnett 20 

713 A Woman's War, by Charlotte 

M. Braeme 20 

714 Hilary’s Folly, by Charlotte M. 

Braeme 20 

715 A Haunted Life, by Charlotte 

M. Braeme 20 

716 Jess, by H. Rider Haggard 20 

717 Why Not? by Florence Marryat 20 

718 The Merry Men, and other tales, 


719 In One Town, by E. Downey... . 20 

720 Elizabeth’s Fortune, by Miss 

Bertha Thomas 20 

721 “ He,” a companion to “ She ” , 20 

722 Springhaven, by R. Blackmore. 20 

723 Wooed and Married, by Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 20 

724 “Dawn,” by H. Rider Haggard, 

Complete 20 

725 The Woodlanders, by Thomas 

Hardy 20 

726 “ It,” the most popular book of 

the age 20 

727 Wee Wifie, by Rosa Nouchette 

Carer 20 

728 Her Worid Against A Lie, by 

Florence Marryat 20 

729 The Dead Secret, by Wilkie Col- 

lins 20 


730 Sabina Zembra. by W. Black. .. 20 

731 Knight-Errant, by Edna Lyall... 20 

732 Her Johnnie, by Violet Whyte. 20 

733 “ Pa,” by the author of “ He,” 

“It,” etc 20 

734 “ Ma,” by the Author of “ He,” 

44 It ” etc ....... .. •••• ... 20 

735 A Golden Hope, by W. Clark 

Russell .. 20 

736 King Solomon’s Wives, by the 

Author of “ He,” “ It.” etc. .. 20 

737 King Solomon’s Treasures, by 

Author of “ He,” “ It,” etc. . 20 

738 Allan Quatermaiu, by H. Rider 


Haggard 2<‘> 

739 “ Bess,” a companion to “Jess ” 20 

740 ’Twixt Smile and Tear, by C. M. 

Braeme 20 

741 Oni, by Wenona Gilman 20 

742 Sweet Cymbeline, by Charlotte 

M. Braeme . 20 

743 Open Sesame, by Florence Mar- 

ryat 20 

744 Mad Dumaresq, by Florence 

Marryat 20 

745 Marjorie’s Fate, by Charlotte 

M. Braeme. 20 

746 Lady Diana’s Pride, by Char- 

lotte M. Braeme...... 26 


MUNRGS PUBLICATIONS . 


MUNRO’S LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICE. 


747 The Belle of Lynn, by Charlotte 

M. Braeme 20 

748 Fighting the Air, by Florence 

Marryat 20 

749 Marrying and Giving in Mar- 

riage, and “ Us,” by Mrs. 
Molesworth 20 

750 This Man’s Wife, by George 

Manville Fenn 20 

751 Next of Kin— Wanted, by Miss 

Betham-Ed wards 20 

752 A Near Relation, by Christabel 

R. Coleridge 20 

753 A Daughter of the People, by G. 

M. Craik 20 

754 Redeemed by Love, by Char- 

lotte M. Braeme 20 

755 The Mystery of Colde Fell by C. 

M. Braeme 20 

756 Golden Gates, by Charlotte M. 

Braeme 20 

757 His Wife’s Judgment, by Char- 

lotte M. Braeme 20 

758 Amor Vincit, by Mrs. Herbert 

Martin 20 

759 A Choice of Chauce, by William 

Dodson 20 

760 The Squire’s Darling, aud Her 

Second Love, by Charlotte M. 
Braeme 20 

761 Puck, Part I. by “ Ouida ” 20 

762 Puck, Part II, by “ Ouida ” 20 


763 Tricotrin, Part I, by “Ouida”. . 20 

764 Tricotrin. Part II, by “Ouida”. 20 

765 Princess Napraxine, by “Ouida” 20 

766 As in a Looking Glass by F. C. 


Philips 20 

767 A Dateless Bargain, by C. L. 

Pirkis 20 

768 Aunt Hepsy’s Foundling, by 

Mrs. Leith Adams 20 

769 A Terrible Legacy, by Appleton 20 

770 Jacobi’s Wife, by Adeline Ser- 

geant 20 

771 Chandos, Part I., by “ Ouida”. 20 

772 Chandos, Part II., bv ’‘Ouida” 20 

773 99 Dark Street, by F. W. Robin- 

son, and Miss Gascoigne, by 
Mrs. J. H. Riddell 20 

774 The Duke’s Secret, by Charlotte 

M. Braeme 20 


no. PRICE. 


775 The Dean and His Daughter, by 

F. C. Phillips 20 

776 A Modern Circe, by the “ Duch- 

0gg ” 2Q 

777 A Guiding Star, by Charlotte M. 

Braeme 20 

778 A Rose in Thorns, by Charlotte 

M. Braeme 20 

779 A Thorn in Her Heart, by Char- 

lotte M. Braeme 20 

780 A Nameless Sin, by Charlotte 

M. Braeme 20 

781 Weavers and Weft, by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

782 Red Spider, by S. Baring-Gould 20 

783 A Secret Inheritance, by B. L. 

Far jeon 20 

784 Dick’s Wandering, by Julian 

Sturgis. 20 

785 A Mad Love, by Charlotte M. 

Braeme 20 

786 Signa’s Sweetheart, by Char- 

lotte M. Braeme 20 

787 Driven to Bay, by Florence Mar- 

ryat 20 

788 Scheherazade, by Florence War- 

den 20 

789 A Vagrant Wife, by Florence 

Warden 20 

790 A Lucky Young Woman, by F. 

C. Phillips 20 

791 Mary Jane’s Memoirs, by George 

R. Sims 29 

792 The Confessions of Gerald Est- 

court, by Florence Marryat. . . 20 

793 The Great World, by Joseph 

Hatton 20 

794 Stella, the Star, by Wenona Gil- 

man 20 

795 The Duchess, by the “Duch- 

ess” 20 

796 Young Mrs. Jardine, by Miss 

Mulock 20 

797 Two Marriages, by Miss Mulock 20 

798 Mistress and Maid, by Miss Mu- 

lock 20 

799 Weeping Ferry, by George 

Hcils6 20 

800 More True Than Truthful, by 

Mrs. Chas. M. Clarke 20 

801 Lady Grace, by Mrs. Henry 

Wood 20 


The foregoing works are inclosed in beautiful lithograph covers, and are 
for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on re^ 
ceipt of price, by the publisher. Address 

MUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

P. O. Box 3643. 24 and 26 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 

[ When ordering by mail , please order by numbers.} 



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